


caught fire in your eyes

by rain_at_dawn



Category: SHINee
Genre: Band!fic, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, It's Complicated (But Not Really), M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, Slow Burn With A Fast Fuse, Stream of Consciousness, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 18:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20122966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_at_dawn/pseuds/rain_at_dawn
Summary: An unexpected development in Kibum and Minho's relationship leads to a shift in Jonghyun and Jinki's.[set loosely around 'View' era]





	1. smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLoOx86A6bE).

** _smoke_ **

_ you wanted to be in love and he happened to get in the way _

_ _ \- a primer for the small weird loves; richard siken _ _

He hears the soft, harsh hush of a match striking somewhere.

Where it comes from, Kibum doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Not right now, when he’s out and alive for what feels like the first time in months; Park Youngbin isn’t one of those scruffy local back-up dancers or glass-cut foreign models. He’s foreign-born – “Oxford”, he claims as his place of education and Kibum’s heart stutters over the perfect English pronunciation – and is very much a man, not like any one of the nondescript boys Kibum’s had to settle for in the past.

“Isn’t this grand?” Youngbin is remarking, his laughter unaffected and Kibum wholly charmed. They are stuffed from dinner at an upscale Italian restaurant which is Youngbin’s father’s go-to when he’s treating guests of the embassy. The ravioli has its reputation, but it’s the fizz of champagne pouring into Kibum’s glass that sears his first hopes of where this date could be heading. 

That, and the smooth skin of Youngbin’s palm as it slides over the back of Kibum’s hand when Kibum replies, “We just say ‘daebak’ here.”

Youngbin laughs again and Kibum waits for another sign, for the tell-tale flutter in his chest to appear so that he can ease into the cool, relaxed smirk which will appear on his face, no doubt. When it doesn’t arise, he still takes that as a good omen. Youngbin is so cultured, so well-mannered, civilized and sophisticated in a manner that Kibum’s always dreamt of.

It’s an aspiration he still dreams of, Kibum reminds himself, as he turns his hand so that his palm now faces upwards into Youngbin’s loose grasp. This looks right; it should feel right too. Youngbin is biting slightly into the flesh of his bottom lip and he seems pleased, at least.

“And what do we say to ‘dessert’ here, then?” He asks playfully, wink included. 

On any other night, Kibum might have given in even to the temptation of theft to satisfy a sweet tooth. But it’s still a first date and there’s still a comeback approaching for SHINee. 

He clasps Youngbin’s hand. “We call it a ‘raincheck’. Will you be free next Sunday? Same time?”

Kibum knows this game all too well; Youngbin makes a little show of humming thoughtfully, mulling over the prospect like it’s a proposition. Kibum’s missed this part of life outside the bubble of idol activities; as a performer, he’s always partial to little shows like these.

“Of course.” Youngbin finally concludes. “Shall I call for the cheque?”

In any case, he does. Youngbin is only a year older than Kibum – “Since we’re in Korea, it’s two years,” goes the old joke – but already so worldly and experienced. For Kibum, it’s a welcome relief from the role of dorm mother that had been thrust upon him for the last seven years. He could get used to being taken care of.

He could definitely get used to having Youngbin’s hand perched firmly on the side of his waist as they step outside into the warm night air, chuckling breathlessly from not enough alcohol and an overflow of nerves. It’s just from the first time, Kibum assures himself. There’s the rest of summer left before Youngbin heads back to England for the autumn. One misstep wouldn’t derail the rest of what they were building now.

In the short time that it takes for him to settle in the passenger seat of Youngbin’s Audi and for Youngbin to settle in the driver’s side, locking the doors and switching on the music (“Have you heard of The Strokes? I think they’d be right up your alley.”), the heat tickles Kibum’s fingertips and toes, as if it were a cautionary gesture. Kibum doesn’t approve; he’s been enjoying himself and he won’t allow a mere bonfire in his innards to swallow up what’s left of it.

So he asks Youngbin about The Strokes and he replies that they’re a rock band from New York and Kibum allows his mind to take off high above and away from the traffic light which turns red at the approaching junction, far away from Seoul, from the dorm he’s consigned to share with Jinki, Jonghyun, Taemin and the asshole who ate the last of his mother’s spicy noodle soup for lunch earlier that day. If Kibum would try hard enough, it would all come down to him and Youngbin in his car, and New York rock bands, and holding hands over gelato and espresso in the next coming weeks, and things that made perfect, wonderful sense if he would allow them to fall into place exactly as they were supposed to. As he meets Youngbin’s gaze and smiles, he knows that at least, this much could be true.

“Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah.” Youngbin agrees. “To be frank, I didn’t expect…”

Kibum’s heart stops.

“I didn’t expect much. Someone like you has already seen so much of the world, right? You’ve been around a lot of friends, your contact list must be the length of the distance most people cover in their lifetimes. So hearing that you want to spend more time with me means a lot.”

Kibum’s heartbeat steadies. A fire is licking inside his belly, but he ignores it. It’s just Youngbin and him, just as friends until the light turns green.

“That’s good to know.” He murmurs, already troubled by his own reticence. They’re passing the signal; he should be making his move now and here he is, biting his tongue in case the wrong name falls from it. Luckily, Youngbin seems content enough with his silence and The Strokes blare in HD from the speakers.

It doesn’t take long until they reach Kibum’s drop-off point, just outside the dorm. Kibum tries not to look up at the building, but he still notices the lights are on through the curtains.

Youngbin’s palm is suddenly warm on the back of his hand and Kibum’s heart is racing again. He tears his eyes away from the windows.

Can’t fuck this up now.

“So same time next Sunday?” Youngbin squeezes his hand and meets his eyes. Kibum swallows.

_ Can’t fuck this up. _

“Yeah.”

He blinks and Youngbin is moving towards him, finally crossing the line. It’s Kibum’s signal to turn fully away from his sight of the dorm and towards this new (better) possibility. He’s ready for something new. And as Youngbin’s lips slide against his, he –

_ remembers how quickly it happened, remembers how it wasn’t supposed to happen at all, the smell of sweat and sports deodorant that asshole always wore, even if he wasn’t going to the gym, the taste of his chapstick _

Kibum gasps, choking. The flames have travelled up his throat, scorching it, leaving behind enough smoke to fill his mouth.

“Shit, I’m sorry – ”

Youngbin is laughing, despite everything. Kibum can barely hear him above the blaze crackling. 

“It’s okay.” Youngbin reassures him. “First dates are always awkward.”

Kibum wants to open his mouth and let out the heat in the thoughts that have suddenly erupted in his head,  _ no this is not how first dates are supposed to go no this should have been nothing short of sweet and simple no this was not how things were supposed to work out no no no _ , but he finds himself sealing his lips tight with a smile, only to break it with a chuckle that sounded too loud and off-key. He would know a bad performance when he saw one and yet here he is, sinking in the middle of exactly that.

And Park Youngbin is none the wiser.

“So I’ll be seeing you next week.” He’s saying, as he drums a tune on the steering wheel. “I can’t wait. I really like you, Kibum.”

Kibum’s heart sinks.

He leaves Youngbin with nothing but a goodbye and a promise waiting to be broken, and he walks to the lift that will take him upstairs to another world entirely, one that seems so achingly familiar and foreign at the same time. It hadn’t been this way last week, before that trip to the gym, before –

The heat makes his skin prickle, a symptom of something that’s also making his heart pound in anguish and he hates this, everything that led to this moment, as he leans back against the glass in the elevator, grinding his teeth.

He knows the cause of it all, even its name and the way it yawns and stretches full-bodied first thing in the morning, he knows its stupid smile and the way it undoes something in his chest and that there was no fathomable way it should. At all.

Kibum has to reckon with it, has to put an end to the hum in his heart that makes his shoulders quiver whenever Choi Minho grins at him over breakfast in the morning, whenever Choi Minho laughs over his dogs chewing the charger cables, whenever Choi Minho huffs over a mistake in choreo, whenever Choi Minho’s reflection catches his eye in the mirror as they’re cooling down after practice.

Everything is Choi Minho’s fault and as the elevator doors ping open, Kibum knows he has to put a stop to it. 

* * *

It’s already late at night when Jonghyun wakes up suddenly; he’s fallen asleep on his bed, right in front of his laptop, and a glance at the time on the bottom-left of the screen confirms his suspicions. It’s 12:43 in the morning, and between now and the precious few hours he’d dozed away, he’s produced a grand total of two words on the document still open before him. Two words whose meaning has completely escaped him and there they are, glaring at him in bold print. The fucking title of the song. Of course.

He groans, closes the document without saving and gets up to plug the laptop to charge for the remainder of the night. It’s only after switching on the light that he turns to the bed across from his and realizes with a strange jolt to his system that the sheets are still in place, the pillow still plump and lacking the lumpy indention of a resting head.

Somewhere out there, his roommate is still awake. At this time, Jonghyun is rational enough to know that Minho is probably just thumbing away at his controller in the living-room, hissing through his teeth as he tries to beat Taemin’s high score on SuperProBallLeagueWhatever on the Playstation, or maybe he’s venting his frustrations on an unsuspecting set of weights at the gym, or he could have just gone on a midnight run for beer and fried chicken with Changmin hyung or Junmyeon or Jinki. 

Jonghyun still doesn’t have enough rational good sense to spare for the feeling curling in his gut, that something isn’t entirely right with the world, or at least, the tiny part of the world which lay before him, inside the dorm, completely dark with the lights switched off. Just to be sure, he steps out into the hallway and walks down to the end so that he can scan the living room for any traces for Minho. Even in the dark, he can tell the Playstation has been unplugged and stored away for the night. The floors and couch look clean; he could always vouch for Minho’s tidiness in that regard.

The odd feeling continues; Jonghyun feels like he should be satisfied with whatever reasoning he can come up with for Minho’s absence, but there’s always something hanging, something he feels he shouldn’t be privy to, but is somehow part of nonetheless.

He turns to head back to the room and suddenly starts at the shadowy figure that seems to have lain in wait for him. But – 

“Jinki.” He exhales, and it’s comforting to see Jinki look just as surprised to see him. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Minho could – ”

The answer is immediate and doesn’t come from Jinki. It flows low and loud and clear from behind the door that encloses Kibum’s room, and Jonghyun feels the heat rise in his head. At any time of night, there was no mistaking a moan. And this one distinctly belongs to –

“M-Minho?” He stammers, disbelieving until the next moan follows, high and needy. “And Kibum? But… what…”

Jinki shrugs, not entirely able to shake off the discomfort so visibly etched into his features. Jonghyun can tell, even with the lights off. “I woke up because of… them. You didn’t hear it earlier?”

Jonghyun’s mind swims as he shakes his head, trying to put the pieces together. He had been asleep and before that, he’d retreated to his and Minho’s room because Minho and Kibum just wouldn’t stop their latest round of nightly bickering. There are shreds of their argument scattered around the living-room still, echoing from the space between the couch and TV console to the kitchen where the yelling had continued, each word searing through the air he and Jinki inhale. 

“But… weren’t they fighting it out earlier? You heard them, right?”

Jinki nods, but Jonghyun can tell it counts for little. Jinki is as clueless as he is; they are rooted in the darkness of the hallway as the light from inside Kibum’s room pools in a golden sliver on the floorboard underneath the closed door, illuminating nothing.

Then Jinki’s hand is warm on his shoulder, and a wave of heat flows from his palm to Jonghyun’s chest until the same hand is pushing gently, and Jinki is telling him: “Go back to bed. We’ll figure things out in the morning.”

By ‘we’, Jinki means ‘I’. There’s no space in there for Jonghyun.

The warmth of Jinki’s hand is fading from Jonghyun’s bare skin as he guides him back to his room and as Jonghyun closes the door behind him, he slumps against the wood and exhales.

He’s going back to bed with his laptop instead.

* * *

Jinki doesn’t linger long in the hallway after sending Jonghyun off to his room. He considers sinking down on the living-room couch with his thoughts for company, but there’s an unquestionable heat in that small space; perhaps it’s a remnant of Kibum taking out his disappointment over a date gone wrong on every little annoying thing Minho ever did to him. It had gotten so bad that Jinki had told them to take it somewhere private to hash out a truce.

_ “Get a room!” _

And the entire thing turns into his fault after all. And technically speaking (to himself), no one’s done anything wrong. Until SM decides otherwise. If they find out. 

Another moan rings out. Jinki decides the couch isn’t the best place to come to a decision and he retreats to the relative sanctity of his own room, interrupted by nothing but Taemin’s occasional snores.

He’ll figure things out in the morning. Jonghyun’s been stressing enough for the past few weeks over the album release; Jinki can take care of the rest.

* * *

It must be sometime in the morning when Minho recovers enough of his stamina to pull on his clothes and make it back to his own room. A quick glance at Kibum’s phone screen tells him it’s 3:33, which is neither good nor bad, because anything comes in threes. 

Kibum rolls over in his sleep and as his legs shift, the sheet which had covered both of them is pulled a little lower, revealing more of the smooth skin on his back. Minho’s eyes travel higher to meet the red marks made by his own fingernails, ten angry little red crescents encircling Kibum’s shoulder-blades. Maybe some lotion would help heal it up later.

Later. 

Minho has to get back to his bed right now.

He’s relieved to find the lights switched off as he sneaks back, taking care to avoid the squeaky floorboard right down the middle of the hallway. Still, he’s especially quiet when opening the door to his room; Jonghyun’s a light sleeper.

The soft lump underneath Jonghyun’s bedsheet is a comforting sight as Minho quickly slips in underneath his own. Exhaustion hits him with the softness of a freshly washed pillowcase against his cheek; he pushes away the vision of the dimple on Kibum’s, springing afresh into his head.

“Minho-yah?”

The vision falls apart; it’s a room with Jonghyun he shares now.

Minho grunts a response. This was as coherent as he could get during this morning hour.

“Where were you?”

“Talking things out with Kibum.”

A pause runs, which Minho is too sleep-deprived to interpret.

“How did  _ that _ go?”

Minho’s head hurts.

“Terrible.” He replies, and turns away to face the wall.

* * *

There are few things Jinki abhors more than friction. In all good sense, he knows it’s just something which comes with this whole leadership territory, even if he doesn’t enjoy it. And with the five of them crammed together in a couple square meters of space, it’s bound to occur more often than not. He can deal, he tells himself. 

“Fuck this!” Kibum whines as they hit another pothole on the road. It’s as if he’s read Jinki’s mind and ripped the words right off his tongue. 

Kibum’s been squirming uncomfortably since they got in the van after practice. Funny how everything else before that had gone so smoothly aside from the snide back-and-forth between him and Minho. They’d been granted five minutes to resolve it privately out of the practice room and had returned after thirty, shirts untucked, hair disheveled and lips smooth with wetness. 

Manager hyung’s consolation involves turning up the volume on the radio  _ (‘Hot summer, ah hot hot summer, Hot summer, ah hot hot, so hot…’ _ ) and telling Kibum to eat more carbs to ease his temper.

“It’ll give you more of a cushion to sit on as well.”

Minho snorts from his place in the front. For his sake, Jinki hopes it wasn’t in agreement, if the glare Kibum directs at the back of Minho’s head is a sign.

The cab in front of them suddenly grinds to a screeching halt, which in turn makes seatbelts a godsend with the way they all jerk forward in their seats instead of out of them. 

“Motherfu – ” The rest of Kibum’s cussing is drowned out by Manager hyung’s. 

Fifteen more minutes, Jinki tells himself, fifteen more minutes if the traffic improves and then he’ll be collapsing into his bed after calling dibs on the shower.

Next to him, Jonghyun is trying to be sympathetic. To Kibum.

“You can sit on my neck-pillow, if it hurts that much.” He’s even pulling off the pink bunny-eared cushion – which Jinki suddenly recalls he’d received from a fan and lent Jonghyun – and placing it on Kibum’s lap. “Besides, you should’ve been more – ”

“Jjong, it’s just fucking muscle cramps.”

“Yeah.” Minho murmurs just loud enough to carry over AKMU’s ‘Give Love’ and for Jinki to detect a trace of a snigger. “Cramps.”

Kibum inhales through his nostrils before leaning as far as he could across Jonghyun so that he can get to Jinki and pass on a message: “Hyung, would you please kick the seat in front of you? It would help ease my pain  _ so _ much.”

Jinki would inflict more than that on both Kibum and Minho if he could get away with it, but it’s pushing 80 degrees outside and they’ve been stuck in a slowly moving metal box for the last 45 minutes. He gifts Kibum a firm ‘No’ instead and receives another huffy whine in return. Jonghyun’s sighing too; it’s been a week of dealing with this shit and neither Kibum nor Minho will fess up to anything except the multiple flaws of the other which instantaneously sprout before the comeback.

Jonghyun’s eyes are closing and his head tips forward slightly. The v-neck he’s wearing shifts, allowing a peek at the tanned skin beneath, just above where Jinki knows his chest mole lies. When he jerks awake again, Jinki is already gazing out the window.

“Traffic’s clearing up now.” Manager hyung hums appreciatively. “We’ll be home soon.”

It doesn’t do anything to erase the frown from Kibum’s face or the exhaustion from Jonghyun’s. Jinki glimpses Minho’s dead-eyed stare reflected in the side-mirror; whatever glee he’d derived from Kibum’s discomfort has run its course, which leaves room for the real physical aches to make their presence known. Right at the back is Taemin, absorbed in the epic fantasy world subject to each swipe and jab of his finger on his new phone screen. 

Jinki looks down at his hands, which, only a few hours ago, were too heavy to sweep away the stray hairs which fell over his forehead, and comes to a decision:

“Hyung, can you drop me off at the 7-Eleven? I can pick up anything you guys need.”

Without turning to take in the full view, Jinki senses the ears pricking.

“Ice-cream.” Kibum orders.

“You’re on a diet.” Manager hyung snips in. “You all are.”

“Ice-cream.” Taemin interjects from the backseat, eyes still glued to his phone as it casts his face in blue light.

Jinki catches Minho’s glance through the side-mirror reflection and guesses that he’s in on the collusion. But all that’s left is – 

“Jonghyunnie?”

Not even that makes Jonghyun smile. He’s alert enough to give Jinki a non-committal nod and it sits about as right with Jinki as a punch to the gut. Now that they’re nearing the corner on which the store sits, there’s nothing else left for Jinki to do but unlatch his seatbelt and wait for Manager hyung to give the signal for him to safely step out.

“Don’t wait for me.” He assures everyone but himself. “I’ll walk home with the bags.”

Manager hyung looks like he wants to argue his case, what with the way his jaw clenches, but ends up letting Jinki go with a sternly worded warning informing him to stay discreet and take no longer than 20 minutes. Which is what Jinki wishes he should have told Minho and Kibum after they’d stormed out of practice, but the damage is done and he’s never going to hear the end of Kibum’s nagging if he doesn’t get something sugary and calorific to soothe him. 

The cold blast of air-conditioning that hits Jinki as soon as he retreats into the store might be his first blessing of the day. Then comes the fully-stocked ice-cream freezer which almost makes him burst into a full chorus of Hallelujahs until he realizes he’d forgotten to ask which flavors everyone wanted.

But this should be a breeze too: cookies ‘n’ cream for Minho, green tea for Kibum, anything with bananas for Taemin. And Jonghyun…

Okay, Jinki thinks, he’s got this. Jonghyun’s favorite flavor will come to him in time.

A tub of mint chocolate chip falls into his basket, followed by walnut and matcha. Mango and blueberry tumble in next, in case Jonghyun’s in the mood for something sweeter. Although, judging by his mood earlier, Jinki wonders if he should be taking any risks. Maybe something like café au lait was a safer bet. Or would vanilla be considered too boring? Passion fruit? Cinnamon Swirl? Christmas Eggnog and Candy Cane? No, no, no, of course not, because Jonghyun absolutely can’t stand Christmas. 

Maybe he’s overdoing it a little. Or maybe he isn’t doing enough at all.

23 minutes later, he’s finally home after trudging alone from the store with two carrier bags of ice-cream tubs, which might have turned into milkshakes at some point in the evening heat. It takes two attempts for him to get the passcode right and by the time the door swings open, Taemin’s already pouncing on him.

“Waahh, hyung, did you buy the entire store?”

“If that doesn’t satisfy Kibum, he can go out for a second run.” Jinki mutters, maneuvering precariously between Taemin’s curious hands and the shortest path he can navigate from the entrance to the fridge. “Where is he anyway?”

“Minho owes him a massage.”

Jinki freezes in his tracks. “What?”

“His words, not mine.” Taemin takes full advantage of this pause to slip his hand into one of the bags and pulls out a tub of Pistachio Maple Syrup. “I didn’t know they stocked this flavor here…”

“A  _ massage _ ?!”

“Yeah, that’s why Minho’s hanging out in his room now. Weird.” 

Jinki doesn’t how to take in any of this new information, except by letting out his irritation in a loud, noisy exhale. His fingers are too preoccupied to pinch the bridge of his nose or rub his temples. 

“Taemin, help me out here.”

Taemin happily obeys by removing one of the bags in Jinki’s grasp, gathering three more tubs in his arm during the trip to pack the rest in the freezer. Fortunately, the receipt from the store lies bunched at the bottom of the bag which Jinki still carries. He quickly reaches in and crumples it into his fist before Taemin can see. Out of 28 flavors, there has to be at least one Jonghyun is partial to. And if there isn’t, Jinki considers the level of good sense left in him to even consider the possibility of ordering a tub of whatever he wants from one of those online gourmet stores.

The little pyramids of hot pink tubs which he and Taemin build up in the cool comfort of the freezer are not doing anything to reassure Jinki. Bit by bit, the rashness of his actions becomes more apparent and retrospectively foolish. He hopes he’s not giving anything else away when he asks Taemin, “Where’s Jonghyun?”

“Showering.” The answer comes promptly over the snapping off of a lid from a container of Strawberry Cheesecake. “You can go next if you want. I can wait.”

Taemin probably has a party of White Mages and Dragoons to assemble on his phone, so Jinki’s going to take up his generous offer. His thoughts can do with some scrubbing off, so while Taemin glides away into the living-room armed with phone and ice-cream for sustenance, Jinki collapses onto the nearest chair at the kitchen table and waits.

After he hears the bathroom door lock unbolt, Jinki counts to fifteen, giving enough time for Jonghyun – possibly adorned in nothing but his personality and a towel – to slip out and go get changed in his and Minho’s room. When the time runs out, Jinki gets up and heads down the hallway to the bathroom. Kibum’s room is suspiciously quiet and there’s really no good reason to pry further.

Later, under the shower’s heat, Jinki lets out the sigh he’s been holding in since he got out of the van.

He knows there’s no good reason for that either. 

The rest of his routine passes on auto-pilot: finish showering, brush teeth, floss, set his three phone alarms. It’s still only 10:15, relatively too early to turn in for any of them, and Jinki isn’t quite ready to break that tradition just yet, even if it’s just him, Jonghyun and Taemin sprawled out on the living-room couch, watching  _ Infinite Challenge _ reruns. 

Except none of them are really watching. It’s not long before Taemin’s fidgeting with his phone again, unable to resist the lure of a loot-box which sprouts in a timely notification onscreen, and although Jonghyun seems in better spirits now than he was right after choreo practice, Jinki can’t shake off the feeling that his mind is far off from the cast’s antics in a daycare.

He opens his mouth to say something – possibly stupid enough to gauge a reaction – but Jonghyun shifts into a cross-legged position that momentarily causes the broad collar of his black wifebeater to slide just a little, exposing enough collarbone and a hint of pecs to keep Jinki’s jaw hanging for while, until he catches Jonghyun staring back and promptly sets his face straight.

“Are you okay, hyung?”

Jonghyun hasn’t addressed him like this in a while, which makes things even worse in Jinki’s head. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He lies and judging from the way Jonghyun cocks his head to the side, stare still fixed on him, he’s bad at it. “There’s ice-cream in the fridge.”

“We’re all on a diet, remember? But anyway,” Jonghyun ends it with a smirk and gets up, making his way to the kitchen. The three-stack high pyramid of garish pink tubs in the freezer looms large in Jinki’s head; he’s definitely overdone it and in a few seconds, Jonghyun’s loud exclamation of disbelief will echo from an embarrassingly short distance.

In that same span of time, a high-pitched keen flits down the hallway from behind the closed door to Kibum’s room. Jinki can’t be more grateful.

“Is shiatsu supposed to hurt that bad?” Taemin wonders out loud, still thumbing through his battleground. “Minho said he’s read books on how to do it right.”

Jinki slumps deeper into the coach with a groan. “Minho should know better.”

“To be fair, I think Kibum’s enjoying it nonetheless.” Jonghyun chimes in on his return, pink plastic tub in one hand and spoon in the other. “I’m surprised that he can take this much after – ”

“Jjong,  _ please _ .” Jinki warns. The knowing smile on Jonghyun’s lips stretches a little wider and that’s enough for Jinki to feel instantly lighter. 

As Jonghyun makes himself comfortable on the couch again, Jinki tries to settle into this moment of calm. Jonghyun’s skin must still be warm from his shower, he muses, because he can swear that he can feel it somehow, even without touching. It could be scientific; do bodies generate heatwaves? 

“Mm, so good.” Jonghyun hums around a spoonful of pink ice-cream. Jinki already agrees.

“You really must have gone wild in the 7-Eleven. We can open another store and sell off the rest of the ice-cream that’s left.”

If Jonghyun thinks that’s a good idea, Jinki can play along. “At least it’d be better than Manager hyung binning it, like he did with the leftover pizza last time.”

Jonghyun hums again in agreement. “Yeah.”

He takes another spoonful into his mouth.

“This tastes even better after being stuck in traffic for two hours. Here, try some.” 

Jinki thinks he would like that; to lick the smidgen of pink off the spoon Jonghyun extends to him – strawberry milk, it finally dawns on him, is Jonghyun’s favorite flavor. And so is his. Jinki thinks he would love for the spoon to enter his mouth, feel the pink ice-cream melt inside, just as it had over Jonghyun’s pink tongue.

Jinki’s gaze falls into Jonghyun’s orbit and in the stillness that spans a second, the planets nearly align and cause everything until now to tip over into place. Maybe the sun rises; maybe it’s the moon Jinki sees in Jonghyun’s eyes. Maybe it’s nothing at all; maybe it’s why Jonghyun seems to come back down to earth, blinking slowly until he realizes his place.

“Shit, sorry.” He shoves the little plastic tub and spoon into Jinki’s lap, and practically springs away in the kitchen’s direction. “I’ll get you another spoon.”

It’s not so much about sharing than it is about spaces. Jonghyun values his own and Jinki decides to respect their boundaries, as invisible as they are to his naked eyes. When Jonghyun does return with a spoon for him to stick into the smooth dent already made in the pink mass of gradually melting strawberry sweetness, Jinki’s mind returns to the one spoon already stuck in the midst of it; an offering, an almost kiss.

If Jonghyun notices, it’s unapparent, even if his voice is a touch higher when he rambles on, “Can’t beat ice-cream in a heat wave like this. We can share, can’t we, hyung? At least, it’s like equal calorie distribution, right? No one’s getting fat. Or sick.”

His knee presses into Jinki’s as he jabs the second spoon towards Jinki’s mouth. “C’mon, hyung, use this. It’s gonna be milkshake later. Or do you really want me to feed you?”

It’s probably nothing serious and that’s partially the problem. Jinki straightens his back away from Jonghyun’s wheedling arm, zeroing in on the dark patch of nothing outside the window.

“Don’t fret, I’m not that hungry.” He lies.

If this disappoints Jonghyun, it only extends as far as the downward twitch of his lips, for as long as the second it takes to rearrange his face into a waning half-moon smile. The ceiling light above them glows obnoxiously bright; Yoo Jaesuk’s voice from the television blares loudly, jarring.

“Your loss.” Jonghyun replies, not sparing Jinki another glance, and Jinki accepts it as gracefully as the aftermath of an ‘almost’ moment gets. His resolve to let it pass liquidizes with each lap of Jonghyun’s tongue on his spoon, each twitch of his ankle which he jerks away from Jinki.

* * *

In the morning, Minho’s in no mood for talking and he’s willing to bet – hopefully – that Kibum isn’t either. They should’ve exhausted themselves of words at this point; Minho’s no poet, so he knows that actions speak louder. It’s all the more evident in Kibum’s shoulders at the breakfast table, hunched in on themselves as he burrows his frown in a magazine propped against one of Jonghyun’s wooden book-stands. 

There’s nothing very appealing about the moment unfolding before Minho; anything that might have passed for beautiful last night, hidden in the darkness under the cotton skies of Kibum’s bedsheets, is plain in the daylight. The frown on Kibum’s face is too forced; Minho’s just as much of an actor as he is, but not seasoned enough to discern what lies deeper than what he sees on skin, the faintest traces of the nail-bites etched into Kibum’s shoulders, which he knows are hidden under today’s dayglow orange t-shirt. To be fair, Kibum gives as good as he gets. 

The bruised skin on Minho’s hips itches under his sweatpants. Last night had been rough.

Kibum sucks in a breath while turning a page. 

_ “Liar.”  _ Minho wants to call out, just to spite him.  _ “Can’t face Park Youngbin’s photoshoot in GQ, so you’re reading Grazia instead.” _

But he just coughs to announce his presence and Taemin’s the only one who answers with a grin around the spoonful of cereal already in his mouth. There’s a ‘Good morning!’ jostling for space somewhere amidst the mush of milk and cornflakes, but at least he means every word. Minho crosses the kitchen space and ends up in the same line of sight as Kibum’s back which faces him defiantly.

By some stroke of fortune, Taemin’s snagged the seat at the head of the table. On his right is Jinki while the chair on his left is empty. Kibum is seated further down the left, leaving the one chair next to him as well as the one directly across empty. 

It’s nothing worth tearing his braincells apart for. Minho knows this for sure, but it’s still a stupid decision to be mulling over in the morning. Take the seat next to Kibum or across? Sitting across from him would put more distance between them, which is appealing, but then he would end up having to look at Kibum. 

“Minho?” Jinki calls out, concern evident in his voice. “What’s bitten you?”

There’s more than one painful answer to that, none of which Minho feels like elaborating. He’s about to bite the bullet and take the seat next to Kibum, when Jonghyun saunters in and does just that. Easy as a breath. 

It’s only now that he notices how Kibum’s shoulders relax as he makes his way to the chair opposite his side of the table. Once Minho sits, the open magazine spread in front of Kibum covers his neck and most of his face. Kibum’s hair is growing out according to plan for the comeback; it’s going to be dark with tinges of seaweed green, the conditioned ends fanning around his head. He’s going to look fucking gorgeous. Minho hates it already.

Next to him, Jinki sighs. 

“D’you want a boiled egg, Minho?”

“No.”

Nonetheless, the last soft-boiled egg from the platter in the middle of the table lands on his plate, despite the rejection. Jonghyun doesn’t seem too pleased.

“Half an hour.” He complains. “I sleep in for  _ half an hour _ and all the protein’s gone.”

Jinki pushes his chair back to stand. “I’ll make you one.”

Clearly, Jonghyun hasn’t expected his whining to have this effect. “Wait, what? Hyung, you don’t have to…”

He’s scrambling to join Jinki at the stove in an attempt to strong-arm him out of taking him seriously. “Jinki, please, let me – ”

Jinki tsks and Jonghyun pouts. It’s so painfully obvious that Minho rolls his eyes, both of them so oblivious to what the other wants that it’s comically absurd. But it’s distracting enough for him to almost miss Kibum slipping away. When he turns, looking up, Kibum’s eyes briefly meet his and it’s both enough and not enough and Minho doesn’t know what he feels or why.

Kibum turns away to make his exit, leaving his mug of coffee and magazine behind. Minho counts to five before reaching out to touch the ceramic rim, the place where Kibum’s lips would have pressed, only to find that it’s long since gone cold.

* * *

Before leaving for his mother’s house, Jonghyun always makes sure to have an excuse handy. Some days, and on many nights, it’s because he misses her, her comfort, her warmth, her cooking, just her. Sometimes, he jokingly admits that it’s Roo, and accuses his mother of overfeeding his dog because why else is she so lethargic when he comes over?

But lately, he’s been using these excuses as a cover story. Today is one of those days on which his sister arrives home early enough from work to join him and their mother on the living room sofa, just in time to catch up on the newest KBS drama which Jonghyun knows no one will end up watching because they have each other to pester and play around with. Billions of people in the world and right here are the only two he’d trust in a heartbeat.

It’s just that there are things he trusts Sodam a little more with.

When the ending credits roll around, mother stretches with a sigh and confesses that she’d better get around to sorting out the laundry now than never, no thanks to her son’s distractions. Jonghyun watches Sodam watch her as she heads upstairs and then it’s down to the two of them. Three of them really, with Roo, and he’s not sure that even counts since the actual third person that’s been dominating his and Sodam’s conversations has never been privy to them.

He patiently waits for Sodam to finish scrolling through her SNS feeds, occasionally pausing to leave a like and comment, while Roo climbs onto his end of the sofa and nestles in his lap. The first question comes sooner than he expects:

“Are things still slow at the dorm?”

“Yes.” Roo lifts her head at the sound of his voice, so he’s now obliged to scratch behind her ear. “And no.”

Sodam looks up from her phone. “Is that good news?”

“Not for me.”

Her eyebrows rise, a sign that he’d better hand over the details, through and through. 

“It happened a few weeks ago, but I’m definitely sure  _ something _ happened. Between Kibum and Minho. Yeah.” He responds to her jaw dropping. “It was that one night on which we heard… stuff, from Kibum’s room. At least, Jinki and I did. Taemin was sleeping.”

“And?”

“It’s still happening. They get it on behind any closed door they can find and pretend nothing happened the next morning while the rest of us lose out on our precious sleep. Well… it’s actually Jinki and I who can’t sleep. Taemin does, somehow.”

It takes a good while for Sodam to process everything he’s spilled. Jonghyun can’t blame her; life at the dorm over the past week has taken on a surrealistic feel, as if there were a convergence of parallel universes that accidentally crossed over each other. Whatever had happened behind Kibum’s bedroom door on the night he and Jinki found themselves caught outside in the hallway on the other side was rippling into each day that followed. 

Sodam finally sets her phone down. “Is that what’s been upsetting you?”

“I’m not upset.” Jonghyun protests. “People just shouldn’t lie, don’t you think?”

“Well, it  _ is _ only between two people.”

That’s true and Jonghyun knows it, and he also knows it’s not entirely the way things are going. “I know it’s not anyone’s business but theirs, but… something isn’t entirely fitting.”

What he means is that for all their combined acting prowess, two of his members are shit at lying. Not that he expects Sodam to completely get it, and judging by her furrowed brow, she really isn’t seeing it from his viewpoint.

“So… do you not like the idea of them being together?”

Jonghyun is about to scoff, when:

“Or is it because you want what they have?”

His mouth twists into a scowl instead. “If you’re implying that I want to spend the duration of my relationship sneaking about and lying, then no. I don’t want that.”

“Of course not. But you’d want  _ something _ , at least.” Sodam’s being mischievous now. “With him.”

There’s nothing for him to dispute there. He’s wanted  _ something _ for a long time now; he wonders if Jinki has too.

“What’s stopping you?”

He has an easy answer for this: “It’s complicated.”

As well as the not-so-easy one: “It’s him. Or maybe it’s me? It’s like two of us trying to get hold of the steering wheel in the same car and sometimes he’s pretty dense, you know? Or I guess I’m too forward? And we might as well as end up going nowhere.”

And the simplest one: “If the company finds out…”

All of these come tumbling out in the span of a minute and he hates how nothing is any clearer despite the outpour. Even Roo seems annoyed; she’s already begun whining. At least Sodam’s learnt not to make her giggling too obvious. There’s just a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Cheer up, you’d still be getting some good song-writing material out of this.”

“Don’t remind me.” He groans. “Even that’s gone. It’s like I’m stuck in every aspect of my life.”

“Oh, chill, would you?”

A cushion hits him.

“You’re so melodramatic. It’s amazing how you haven’t progressed at all since high school.” There’s no malice in her voice as she closes the gap between them and puts her arm around his shoulders. “Push will come to shove one day, I’m sure.”

“There’s not going to be any shoving, Noona.”

“Are you going to keep pushing then?”

Jonghyun doesn’t know if he can, or if he even wants to. Things are strained enough as it is and he’s not sure if he’s up to testing Jinki’s boundaries. 

“Maybe I’ll give up.”

Her hand on his head is soft and soothing as it gently strokes. “That’s not like you. You’re not going to let go that easily.”

It’s true and he hates himself for it. 

“Maybe I’ll just write a song after all.”

“And it’ll be beautiful. Just like everything you write.”

He doesn’t have the heart to disagree, so he nods anyway, and his head feels heavier, full of his words, weighted with longing and doubt.

* * *

It’s 2:13 in the afternoon on a Thursday, Kibum has already been up way too long and he can’t wait to go back to bed again. And unlike the last sporadic couple of nights, he’ll be going there alone and if any of his thoughts wants to have their merry way with him right then, he’s just going to smother them with a pillow. 

The hope of a peaceful afternoon nap begins to fade as soon as the door swings open to the dorm’s entryway. Kibum hears laughter; Minho’s cackling and Taemin’s snickering. The furniture thumps as they roughhouse over something which Kibum knows for certain can only be absolutely inane, so he’s going to head straight to his room. It’s been two hours too long spent with Jinki getting the new choreography perfectly acceptable. Kibum had woken up at six this morning with the assumption that a stopover at Starbucks would ease his transition into the early hours. The flush of humidity which had sunk into his skin, seeping right through his Moschino shirt as soon as he stepped out of the building made him realize his mistake.

Still, Kibum had persevered. Kibum had driven to the nearest coffee house and ordered three tall iced Americanos for himself, Jinki and Jonghyun who were supposed to meet him in their designated practice room at SM. Kibum hadn’t complained at all when he received Jonghyun’s text, explaining why – but not really – he’s decided to sacrifice dance practice time for studio time instead, and Kibum had pretended he didn’t notice Jinki’s face fall momentarily when he found that it was only Kibum whom Jonghyun texted.

Kibum had set up the tablet which contained the choreo guide as well as the music, and set himself and Jinki in their positions as best as they could muster with only two members present. Kibum had had to make do with running on a diet’s worth of salad, egg whites and one-and-a-half grandes of coffee – Jonghyun’s share split between himself and Jinki – for the next five hours, alternating with wiping his sweaty forehead at random intervals and pausing to correct Jinki’s missteps, which – given Jonghyun’s absence – seemed to have tripled in frequency. Kibum knew he could’ve just rolled his eyes and forgiven both of them, but he’d nearly exhausted his own energy by the time the hour hand settled on one.

It hadn’t taken much for Jinki to just collapse on his back at that point. He’d batted away Kibum’s attempts to get him upright and insisted he would be staying longer to get his moves down. Kibum hadn’t argued, though he also knew better than to agree. This summer was turning out brutal, heat lashing through every open crevice. 

He needed the alone time; he’d earned it. 

As he passes the fridge in the kitchen, Kibum remembers the hot pink hillocks of ice-cream tubs. Jinki always went about things weirdly when he was trying to appease everyone. Or just one. No wonder Jonghyun seems so tired lately.

He wonders if there’s anything he likes left; surely just a spoonful wouldn’t count as cheating. His hand hovers over the remaining pink tubs as his mind ponders, until there’s an eruption of noise that makes him flinch. 

It’s probably something stupid, but he has to be sure.

Kibum steps backwards away from the fridge and out of the kitchen, until he’s in sight of the living-room. Taemin’s vocal range is only slightly off-kilter from where he lies shrieking on the couch as Minho straddles him with a smirk. 

Red. A flash of red hits Kibum in the eyes. Then he sees the TV remote tugged between both their hands and everything shifts back into perspective.

Taemin must sense his presence because he’s craning his neck to look at him. “Oh, hi hyung!”

Kibum keeps his eyes trained on him, not Minho.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Watching TV?”

“In that position?” Kibum sniggers too loudly, even to his own ears. “What show? MMA? No wonder you’re laying off the workouts.”

Taemin just grins cheekily, rolling away from beneath Minho and onto the floor, folding and unfolding his legs with a dexterity Kibum envies. “Anyway, I got the remote now so it’s my say.”

“You only win because Kibum interrupted.” Minho pipes up. A disconcertingly familiar rush makes Kibum’s chest twinge uncomfortably. He decides that he can do without ice-cream today.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go shower. Play nice, you two.”

He doesn’t spare another glance at them and starts for the bathroom. He’s not more than halfway down the hall when he’s interrupted.

“Hey, Kibum…”

It’s Minho. Kibum doesn’t have time for this, but he’ll grant him this one second. “What?”

“You tell me.”

The red flash is back behind Kibum’s eyelids as he lets them fall closed. It’s a muted shade of red this time, one that burns in a different manner. When he opens his eyes, Minho is still before him with his hands planted on his hips and mouth set. There’s none of the amiableness crinkling his features as it had just a few minutes ago when he’d been with Taemin.

“Minho, stop it. I’ve spent four hours watching Jinki hyung trip over his feet on the day the sun decided to kickstart its descent into hell. Go play with Taemin if you want to play at all.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Of course Kibum knows and he hates that Minho can see that. “Taemin is right. Over. There.”

“So?” Minho’s gaze darts towards the living-room where Taemin now lies contentedly on his stomach with his eyes fixed on the TV screen, and he lowers his voice regardless. “How’s Park Youngbin?”

“Fucking hell, Minho, is this what you decided to accost me over?”

“I’m not ‘accosting’ you, I’m asking you a question.”

“Which is none of your business.”

“And what we did in the bathroom before last group practice wasn’t either?”

An unbidden memory of going down on his knees before Minho as the hot water fell in sheets around them hits Kibum with all the force of a kick to the head. 

“That’s different.”

It’s only two words, but Kibum knows he’s already said too much. Judging by the confusion apparent on Minho’s face, he’d better not give him time to catch up.

He begins putting enough space between them, making his way to his room. “I’m tired and I’m going to take a nap.”

“Wait a minute…”

Minho’s fingers are encircling his wrist. “What’s different, Kibum? Aren’t you technically cheating on him?”

“Let go of me – ”

“I don’t wanna end up in any of that love triangle bullshit, if this is we’re heading – ”

“We’re not heading anywhere!”

The hand around his wrist releases and the rest of Kibum pitches forward in the wake of his outburst. He stumbles into the nearest wall, pushes himself off of it and then flees to the open door of his room, accomplished without having to look any longer into Minho’s eyes.

And it  _ is _ all Choi Minho’s fault. Another memory arises inside Kibum’s head as he slams the door shut and nearly flings himself onto his bed, one in which the waxy feel of Minho’s chapsticked lips melds with the stickiness of the summer heat after that first time in the gym. Then comes the one before that where Minho smiles at him, across from backstage over streams of technicians and coordi noonas, under the glare of stadium lights in another country, just for him.

Another comes after both of these, and this is the one where Minho lies next to him, both of them spent and gasping for air, skin slick with sweat.

Kibum buries his head in his sheets and after catching a whiff of that scent, slides onto the floor with hands clenched, feeling a stab of vindication as the nails digging into his palms remind him of the ones that had sunk into his back, just a few nights ago. 


	2. flames

** _flames_ **

_ is it just desire we suffer from?  _

_ \-  _ _ _ tranquility; anna de noailles _ _

It shouldn’t feel this weird, but the complete silence from Minho while they work out in the gym is unnerving to Jinki. He hasn’t heard a word of an offer to spot him while he completes stomach crunches on the floor – not that it would have been welcome anyway – nor has Minho complained about the Davichi ballad being played, perhaps accidentally, in the background over the speakers. Then again, Minho isn’t as picky as Jonghyun is over workout music.

After the fifty second crunch, Jinki gives in to the stitch in his stomach and flops onto his side. Minho’s right next to him, bench-pressing his regular set, and hasn’t stopped to nag at him for letting himself go. He might as well as make the best of this break, so Jinki closes his eyes and allows his mind to drift through the chorus of ‘Sorry, I’m Happy’. 

He gets as far as the end of the song before the oddness taps its way into his head, intermingling with the lyrics, the words he’s listening to and the words that lie awake, but dormant and useless. He’s tired and sweaty, but one unanswered question leads to another and then his lips move:

“Minho-yah?”

Jinki receives a grunt, which is still more than he expects. It’s the same answer he’d received from Kibum a few hours ago, when he asked him if he wanted to join him and Minho at the gym. Kibum had been lounging on the sofa with his phone for company; Minho had done nothing to persuade him to get moving either, not even the least snide remark at the towel turban wrapped around Kibum’s freshly washed hair.

Minho’s usually a monster at the gym and when Jinki eyes the flash of teeth bared as he grimaces under the strain of 20kg weights on either side of the bar he lifts above him, he can see what he’s aiming to defeat. He figures Minho can use some help, though his joints protest as he makes to stand up. When he’s on his feet, Jinki circles the bench, taking it smooth and slow so that Minho won’t know what’s coming.

Minho inhales loud and sharp as the bar lowers; Jinki moves in, taking a firm grip of the iron right next to Minho’s closed fists and lifts along with him. Minho’s eyes instantaneously fly open and then there’s the tiniest gap in transition as they flicker from surprise to irritation to the slightest hint of amusement. 

“Hyung…”

“You forgot to tell me off for cutting my sit-up count in half.” Jinki muses aloud, careful not to let the smile on his face reveal anything more. “I actually missed the noise.”

“I’m not noisy!” Minho wrenches the bar back down until he has control of its grip again. “I’m concentrating, can’t you see?”

“No, you’re not.”

He cuts off Minho’s protest with a question: “What time is it?”

“Hell if I know.”

Jinki tsks. “There you go. On any other day, it’s ‘five more minutes on the treadmill and you’re done, hyung’, ‘you can let go once it turns three past twelve, hyung’, ‘seven more minutes and you’ll burn off all that tteokbeokki from last night, hyung’.”

Minho frowns as he finally places the bar back on its stand and slides out from beneath it. “I do not.”

“Well, you could use a break anyway.  _ I _ could use a break.” 

“Already? All you’ve done is cardio and floor exercises – ”

“Minho, it’s one o’clock in the morning. We’ve been here since ten.” 

Minho is just making his way to the rowing machine when he freezes in front of the clock above the row of treadmills, staring as time faces him. “Shit.”

Jinki knows he’s got him. “Yeah. C’mon, let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Carpark. Just for some air. After we wash up.”

There’s nothing more from Minho afterwards as they strip off their sweat-soaked workout gear and shower quietly, hollow-eyed under the hot jets of water. It’s not the silence which Jinki minds as much as the things that fill it, especially the questions:  _ how’re you doing? Are you really okay, because you’re clearly lying when you say you are, so are you, really? Are you going to be? _

Bit by bit, it patters on, until they each turn off the water and drag themselves back to their lockers to dry themselves. They pull on fresh t-shirts and track-bottoms before heading outside to the carpark that’s almost empty, save for Jinki’s BMW; the air is hot and smoky and sultry and most of the things that mark a summer’s night. They lean against the building wall, gym bags at their feet, exhaling.

Jinki times himself carefully before saying, “We’re alone now. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” comes out of Minho’s mouth, dressed in his voice, but there’s still a layer underneath that Jinki catches on to. “Just stuff. The comeback, the choreo. Usual stuff.”

“It’ll be nothing we can’t handle. Just like the ones before.”

Minho nods, instead of speaking. Jinki lets some time pass, with nobody else around to keep track of it where they stand. He can imagine them being the only two souls in Seoul on this very night (morning); then there’s Kibum back at the dorm, Taemin at his parents’ house and Jonghyun at the studio. But that’s as far as he can stretch his mind.

“You hungry?” He asks himself or Minho, he’s not really sure. “I’m craving hotteok. I know I shouldn’t be, but I do.”

Though he’s not looking at him, Jinki thinks that might have elicited a smile from Minho. “You’re something else, hyung. You’d buy a whole cart of hotteok for Jonghyun hyung or Taemin before you’d realize it was you that was the hungry one.”

Despite himself, Jinki shifts uncomfortably. 

Time passes again; seconds, minutes, neither of them keeps track until he musters enough courage to speak again.

“Changmin hyung texted me. About you.”

Minho’s head turns suddenly. “When?”

“It was that one night when you went out with him and Kyuhyun hyung last week, remember? He said you were crying over a girl.”

Time crunches to a halt for a horrible second and then Minho’s laughter explodes, splintering in the surrounding quietness, and it’s so high and loud that Jinki already knows it’s fake. Minho needs a better acting coach.

“That is  _ wild _ .” Minho sputters as his grin splits from ear to ear. “How drunk was I? Did he say?”

“You were bawling in the middle of a samgyeopsal place in Itaewon.”

“I wasn’t  _ bawling _ , the coal and onions made my eyes water.”

“That’s not what Changmin hyung thought.”

“He must’ve been the drunk one.”

Jinki sighs and decides to just wing it. “It was the same day you and Kibum got in that fight. Taemin told me about it.”

“That’s how it always is with Kibum.” Minho’s hands dive into the depths of his track-bottom pockets and Jinki’s sure he sees them clench. “Just like how it always was.”

“It wasn’t  _ always _ like this. You two were getting along fine a few months ago, before…” 

The breadth of it makes Jinki pause. If he can pinpoint where the first cracks had resurfaced in his members’ relationship, he’s hovering just over the right place: a few months ago, in the midst of tentative concept planning for SHINee and long, drawn-out meetings with the team at Creative. If he can dig just beneath the surface of those currants, he’d be lucky.

“What  _ did _ happen then, Minho? Was it so bad?”

More silence. It flows along, the pulse of Seoul humming quietly as the city sleeps. Jinki had been so tired less than half an hour ago, though it feels like longer. Now, something torrid sinks its teeth into his own veins, leaving him more awake than ever. Time flows and Minho seems to shudder; or maybe it’s Jinki’s own concern that renders the shadows static in-between them, just making him wish he hadn’t dragged this conversation out here, without the softness of coffee-shop lights and cold brew to bring things into focus.

So when Minho does speak, it’s a flurry of chopped syllables which nearly makes Jinki feel foolish for not understanding the first time around. But there’s still yet more time, what remains of the safety of darkness until dawn breaks, and he tells Minho to slow down, confess it in a whisper if he has to get it right.

“It really was my fault, hyung.”

The rest of it pours out in short spurts; maybe it’s the summertime lethargy kicking in, but Jinki finds more comfort in having the story out than Minho has in trying to make sense of where the end met the beginning, or if it would end at all.

_ “I really don’t hate him, hyung.” _

_ “You know what? Maybe I do hate him.” _

It’s incomplete without Kibum’s side, of course, and Jinki thinks that it’s okay to keep things at that for the moment. Each recollection of each fight, each fuck, seems to wind up a storm in Minho which dissipates into the air with each word and by the end, he’s worn out, and one half of two months and three days is now divided between him and Jinki.

Now that it’s over and done with, Jinki leans across, closing the gap until he has his arm tucked awkwardly around Minho’s shoulders, height difference notwithstanding.

“Ice-cream?”

Minho laughs and Jinki’s heart sinks because he knows this one’s the real deal, a joyless shell. “No thanks. Can we just… stay out here instead? I don’t want to go back to the dorm right now.”

Jinki lets Minho’s head drop onto his shoulder.

“Of course.”

* * *

_ “Why’d you have to kiss me first, stupid.” _

They have no wine at the dorms tonight, which sucks for Kibum, but the soju bottles do fit real nice under the pucker of his lips as he sucks out one after another and it’s not fair that there are now five empty ones surrounding him on the living-room floor.

Hang on, he squints despite the bright overhead lights, there’s more than five.

Six soju bottles. He’s forgotten to count the one he’s been talking to. Well, shit.

_ “Don’t you dare look at me like that.” _

There’s shuffling from the kitchen; Jonghyun’s back from his hideout at the studio and is poking around the fridge. Kibum hopes he’s not checking the liquor count. There are already five – no,  _ six _ , he corrects himself – empty soju bottles in front of him and the living-room lighting has never done him any favors. He’s somewhat aware that he’s fallen into that halfway gap between tipsy and on-the-way-to-a-hangover-come-morning; since the fact doesn’t bother him much, he assumes that it’s already too late anyway.

“You know, Bummie.” Jonghyun’s voice trails above Kibum’s line of sight, far above his bare feet padding on the floor towards him. “You are the neatest drunk I know.”

Kibum looks down at five soju bottles all lined up straight before him and finally puts down the sixth. “A compliment’s always good.”

Jonghyun’s known him long enough to not disagree immediately. He just hums along, not in complete agreement, as he settles down cross-legged beside him. He’s been carrying a freshly microwaved bowl of banchan, which means the rice cooker’s empty. Kibum feels like he should mention this, as if it were important, and he feels the words slipping out, smoothly enough off his tongue, if just the slightest bit slurred.

Nonetheless, Jonghyun understands it.

“We’re on a no-carb diet, remember? Besides, I kinda like having all the sides like this. Learnt it from Taeminnie.” 

Which translates as:  _ don’t worry about getting up and cooking more rice, Kibummie. _

“That better be the only thing you learn from Taemin.” Kibum begins tapping a tune over the open mouth of the sixth soju bottle, fully intending to drown out any uncomfortable silences that would need filling. “Where’d he go anyway?”

“To his parents’ place. He’s missed his dogs.”

Dogs. Commes Des and Garcons must have taken over Kibum’s bed by now. It’d be just like them to take advantage as soon as he isn’t around to catch them; he should get to bed too. It sounds like a nice place in theory. What Kibum means to do next is bend his legs to stand up, but what ends up happening next is the sixth bottle getting knocked over and rolling away from his grasp. It goes past Jonghyun’s left knee and Kibum watches Jonghyun follow its path, his stare lingering a tad too long for Kibum’s comfort.

There’s a lecture incoming; Kibum senses it in the gap that forms between the rogue bottle and its five companions still standing. He’s already coming up with a way to divert it.

“Jonghyun-ah,” He makes sure to take things nice and slow, spacing each syllable to make up for the warm fuzz that cottons his mouth. “It’s really unfair that you’re skipping out on practice. Leaving me with Jinki hyung. Un- _ fair _ .” 

“I’m working on some stuff.” The softness is gone from Jonghyun’s mouth; it’s set in a firm line that Kibum knows doesn’t bode well but he tries again.

“There’s enough stuff to work on. Stuff with dance. Legwork. Jinki hyung. Jinki hyung’s leg stuff with dance.” That definitely didn’t come out the way it was supposed to. Kibum probably doesn’t have enough sobriety left in him; he might as well treasure his precious few moments before Jonghyun’s inquisition.

Jonghyun’s next few words seem to parachute slowly into his consciousness: “… hyung takes direction better from you anyway.”

“Truuueee…” Kibum drawls, despite himself. And it  _ is _ true. He has nowhere near the level of patience Jonghyun exerts with their leader and Jinki knows that, doesn’t complain about it, and just works harder. Which makes the new low of sloppiness Jinki achieved today all the more of a puzzle.

“I’m warning you though, Jjong, this is the.  _ Last _ . Time. Which you get to ditch me.”

“I’m sorry.” Jonghyun responds in that melodic sing-song tone, which already tells Kibum he isn’t. “Next time, for sure.”

Kibum wants to scowl and spit out the witty comeback that’s surely just on the tip of his tongue, but he hiccups instead and this breaks any pretense of solemnness he had. Now Jonghyun’s laughing at him.

“Aww, Kibum, if I’d known my absence would drive you to drink, I would’ve made it to practice.”

“It’s gonna take more than any of you going missing for me to…”  _ Drown my sorrows _ is the phrase which pops into Kibum’s mind, but it’s been six bottles and he’s already making a pathetic enough impression of himself. “For me to indulge. This is just one-off. Okay?”

Jonghyun nods, bottom lip tucked in, trying to contain more laughter. “Okay.”

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Kibum knows he’s fighting a losing battle for his dignity. At least his struggles are contained inside, with only Jonghyun around to witness, and not Taemin or –

“So, is Minho going to be hanging out in your room later? Because I might be up working again and I know the light from my laptop bothers him when it’s dark.” 

“We’re not hanging out.”

“Was that one-off too?”

“Watch. It.” Each word is supposed to be emphasized with a jab of his finger, but Kibum vaguely notes that his pinkie is drawing circles in the air between his and Jonghyun’s faces. Still, Jonghyun shrugs it off and goes back to his banchan mix. 

Which makes the next part entirely Kibum’s fault.

“I fucking… hate him.”

“Definitely heard the first part at night.” Jonghyun agrees through a mouthful of kimchi. “It’s the second half that I don’t get.”

“Well, it’s true. Hate him.”

“Kibummie…” This is bad, Jonghyun’s setting the bowl aside and clearing his throat. Kibum’s gaze darts around the room, hoping for a seventh bottle. 

“Kibum.”

“ _ What _ ? We fight all the time, it’s nothing new.”

“You two were getting along great a few months ago. I mean, why’d you go out to movies together?”

“For research.” Kibum returns Jonghyun’s frown in full. “You know, how to act, how to emote, shit like that. It was work.”

“It wasn’t just work. You liked each other, you liked being around each other. Even when you used to argue, you’d both let things go so easily. And then suddenly, you began to pick on Minho and he wouldn’t let it slide, and then we were back to our trainee days.”

Jonghyun’s right; Kibum doesn’t want him to be, but he’s onto something and he won’t let go of Kibum now. Another round of dance practice with Jinki sounds delightful in comparison.

“Why’re you so mean to him, Kibummie.” This is not a question and Kibum can tell it isn’t because Jonghyun is a gentle and dangerous persecutor who won’t go seeking answers he isn’t expecting. “I know you don’t hate him. Not really. Deep down.”

The hand squeezing Kibum’s knee is supposed to be reassuring, but he feels it like a vice around his chest. This is what torture is and while Jonghyun probably doesn’t mean it, he already knows what he’s going to get out of Kibum.

Not that Kibum’s going to make it easy.

“I don’t hate him. I hate things about him. So there.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to, you know, hurl those things right at his face.”

“I didn’t hurl his dirty soccer jersey  _ at _ his face. His face just got in the way.”

“It’s… not exactly the most tactful way to tell someone not to mix the coloreds with the whites when you’re doing the laundry, Kibummie. Or is that just a figure of speech from Daegu?”

While Jonghyun’s talking, Kibum’s reaching for the empty bottles. They’re good as useless now, but it’s something to distract his head as he rearranges them to mirror their positions for the choreo. Try as he might, he can’t summon the first few beats of  _ View _ from memory. This is bad.

“I don’t hate him.”

“I know.” 

Kibum will allow Jonghyun this one small victory. As for the rest of the war:

“We’ll fight things out. Then things go back to normal.”

The ‘hmph’ Jonghyun lets out is small, but patronizing enough for Kibum to shoot him a glare. “I mean it, Jjong. He’ll get over it.”

“Don’t tell Minho I said this, but getting over anything isn’t his strongest suit.”

There’s a twinge inside Kibum’s throat which he swallows. “Well, he’ll have to.”

“No more hanging out with you in your room with the door locked?”

If Kibum hazards a guess, he risks another more dangerous thought. So silence it is and it’s not long before the sounds of Jonghyun’s munching fill in for the lack of words again. Kibum knows he has to wait it out until Jonghyun finishes eating, gets up to go wash his bowl at the kitchen sink and then to bed, or more likely, back to work on his music. 

Jonghyun’s lucky; he’s got something to swallow up the bitterness inside of him. As for Kibum, he’d thought six bottles of soju would help it go down easier, but he’s choking on it now. He realizes it too late as his eyes well up. Of course, this  _ has _ to happen. And if it isn’t bad enough, the twinge in his throat erupts into a sob.

It’s not even a sniffle, it’s a fucking sob and once Kibum gets like this, a rare event as it is, he can’t stop and it’s even worse with Jonghyun around, plying him with tissues and a hug, instead of leaving Kibum in the mess he’s made.

“It’s okay, don’t hold it in.” Jonghyun keeps reassuring him and Kibum doesn’t.

“I don’t. Hate him.” The sentence is bent around hiccups. “But he started it.”

Jonghyun doesn’t get where he’s going. Not that Kibum does either, but he at least knows where it began.

“We shouldn’t be friends.”

“It’s a bit too late for that, Bummie.” Jonghyun pats his shoulder extra gently for emphasis.

“Not  _ us _ , Jamong. Minho. We can’t be friends. Anymore.”

“Oh?”

Kibum knows that Jonghyun’s not pushing him for an explanation, but he’s aching all over. So much for the alcohol’s numbing effect. “He started it. And now I ruined it.”

“Ruined?”

“When he kissed me the first time. We should’ve stopped then. It was just something stupid. And then Youngbin, you know? I’d just met him, hanging out and stuff. D’you know how hard it is to find guys like that? And then you can’t date someone like that because you kissed someone else in the fucking locker-room last week and you have no idea how  _ that _ fucking happened, and now it’s all I’ve been thinking about and I feel like crap.”

If Kibum can build up what’s been in his head for the last few days and lay it out for himself to understand, he would. But here it is instead, a pile of crumpled words that used to be a cage for other things he wouldn’t dare put a name on, least of all:

“Minho.”

When he opens his eyes after rubbing at them, he finds Jonghyun still there, listening. Kibum looks away, not bothering with trying to gather himself. The secret’s out there now. His secret. And Minho’s.

“I don’t…” His voice is trembling. He stops and begins again. “I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know why.”

“You’re just tired.” There’s Jonghyun’s arm around him now, warm and safe. “Don’t worry about it now. There’s always tomorrow.”

Kibum can’t see any comfort in that, but he allows himself to be helped up to stand and be guided back to his room. Jonghyun pushes the door open and flicks on the light, waking up Commes Des who starts barking from atop Kibum’s pillow. The sound registers hard inside Kibum’s skull. Jonghyun must have heard the wince; he’s already scooped up Commes and is reaching for Garcons’ snoozing form lying at the foot of the bed. 

“Get some sleep. I’ll babysit your kids.”

For once, Kibum does as he’s told and lies down. Just before Jonghyun turns the light off, Kibum tries to catch a glimpse of his face. In the split second before everything goes dark, he catches the faintest ghost of a smile.

* * *

Despite the warnings, Jonghyun seeks refuge in the comfort of the studio the night before they’re due to fly out to Bangkok. The MV shoot’s supposed to begin a few hours after they touch ground and Jonghyun’s already dreading it. He’s never been to Thailand at a time when the heat and humidity wasn’t running him ragged during concerts and fanmeets. There’s no reason why this time will be any different.

As for time itself, it’s crept into a particular hour of night where he shouldn’t be thinking, so he’s doing exactly that. It’s one of the rare moments in which he’s contained within himself, feet bare on the floor, knees pulled up to his chin. Work had been his excuse for being here; he now knows that’s a sham.

He’s kept the lights off because he’s always loved the dark. He likes tiny things, fragile things, things that are felt before being seen, things that are known long before they are understood. None of these things have made their way to his notes yet, but he’s willing to wait for as long as he can bear until the words finally fit the blanks.

There’s a light that’s now blinking from the corner of his phone. He considers letting it be, but it goes on and off in that annoyingly hypnotic pattern, and he sighs as he reaches for it:

_ ‘hey _

_ ‘r u busy’ _

Jinki.

_ ‘why’ _ , he texts back, then keeps count of how long it takes for a response.

His phone-screen goes black. 72 seconds later, the pale yellow light blinks again.

_ ‘parents tried out a new bibimbap place _

_ ‘have leftovers’ _

Jonghyun’s not up for games at this time of night. He types  _ ‘not hungry _ ’ and is about to hit ‘send’ when Jinki beats him to it.

_ ‘i’m downstairs _

_ ‘still hot’ _

The phone nearly slips from his grasp. Seconds later, Jonghyun scrambles to get the door opened to allow Jinki inside the waiting area. The bibimbap smells fresh.

“Still hot?” Jonghyun quips, trying to salvage some sense of composure.

“Um, yeah?”

He shakes his head. At least Jinki’s oblivious enough. Jonghyun can’t bear the thought of having to turn him away now. He pulls on the plastic carrier bag still in Jinki’s grip and leads them both to a sofa in the corner. Under his snapback, Jinki’s hair is a dusty fuchsia pink that reflects the light above them and Jonghyun finds himself counting one, two, three before tearing his eyes away from it to the container of food. 

“Who craves bibimbap at this time?” He asks, just for the sake of it. He already knows how cravings work during comeback preparations, those weird hunger pangs that strike at the most inconvenient hours. “They’d kill us if we went off our diets now.”

“We’re not rookies anymore.” Jinki replies. His eyes haven’t strayed far from the rice and beef since opening the container. “Besides, I have a car now.”

“You’re just gonna start speeding as soon as any of the managers catch you?”

Jinki nods happily around his first mouthful. Jonghyun won’t put a stop to his good mood here, so he picks up the second pair of chopsticks and sets to work on his half of the bibimbap. If it’s any consolation to SM, it’s just one portion split between the two of them. That and the one other secret they both carry.

It’s the one thing that’s eating at Jonghyun’s appetite now; he nibbles on the shreds of carrot and spinach, thinks of maybe going in on the cucumbers next to save Jinki the trouble, unsure if he hopes that the other will or won’t notice. 

He looks at Jinki’s pink head, just across from him, bowed as he digs into the rice, and sends him a thought:  _ you look really pretty _ .

In between bites, Jonghyun’s eyes meet Jinki’s through their lashes. He wonders if Jinki can hear him somehow. His appetite wanes at the idea while a different kind of white hot hunger sparks in his chest. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, pushing away another thought.

Except for the cucumbers, Jinki’s half of the food rapidly disappears. He glances over at the crater in Jonghyun’s share: “Not hungry?”

“Not very.” Jonghyun confesses and sets his chopsticks aside. “Might as well pack this up for someone else. Maybe Taemin?”

Jinki nods in agreement. Minho and Kibum have been overcompensating in other areas so that they wouldn’t have to focus on each other. These last few nights have been silent while the days are worse still: even more silence, loaded with words scattered around like mines, laced with paths only those two knew how to navigate. If they wanted to.

Taemin has been sticking to his diet, practicing too much and not sleeping enough. He could use the extra serving of rice and meat; Jonghyun would end up eating the cucumbers for him. Just like he would have for Jinki, but this is something else entirely and now that they’re away from the dorm, he might as well call some attention to it.

“You could’ve just waited ‘til I came back.”

“You still would’ve gone back to work in your room.” Jinki retaliates and Jonghyun knows that would have been true on any one of these past nights. Time for a change in routine.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

Jinki looks up, strands of pink hair and the smallest speckle of gochujang on his bottom lip, and Jonghyun suddenly wants to be selfish and seize this moment for himself, but:

“Kibum and I had a talk. About that.”

‘That’, to be exact. The same as ‘that thing’ which Jinki had heard first-hand from Minho. It was time to put the two halves together.

“I told you that Kibum got really drunk that night after you and Minho went to work out, remember? I came home later and some things came out. He ended up getting really upset, so I put him to bed and we talked about it some more in the morning.”

Jinki fidgets with the knot he’s trying to make with the two ends of the carrier bag. “Minho said he…”

“He kissed Kibum in the locker-room first.”

“He said Kibum kissed back and then pushed him off and stormed out.”

Jonghyun remembers Kibum trying to keep his voice flat and monotone as he told him his side of the story from across the kitchen table in the morning after, over a steaming mug of tea he hadn’t touched and still, there’d been gaps where he’d had to pause to get a grip on himself, the whites of his knuckles as they clenched filling in those spaces. 

“It was complicated, Jinki. He’d just met Park Youngbin at that time and that’s what he… who he thought he wanted.” Jonghyun pauses, considering his own words before picking up where he left off. “That’s who he thought he was supposed to want. And he thought he should nip things with Minho in the bud before it got too messy.”

“But…” Jinki’s struggling to find the right words, but Jonghyun already knows what’s coming. “That night after Kibum’s date with Youngbin happened…”

Jonghyun winces. “Things got messy.”

“That’s kinda the part I still don’t get.”

“To be fair, I don’t think either of them do. It just happened.”

_ “It just happened,” _ Kibum had whispered over the wisps of steam.  _ “One minute I was yelling at him to leave me alone and the next, I didn’t want him to.” _

Jonghyun tries to explain his theory the best way he can to Jinki. “Maybe it was just something that was supposed to happen. Between them, and only the two of them. The timing just sucks.”

“Yeah.”

The way Jinki leans back on the sofa, eyes closed and head tilted up so that Jonghyun can watch the bob of his adam’s apple in his throat, skirts dangerously close to some of his wildest dreams. There have certainly been nights where he felt he could have come undone with a single imagined touch. He now notices Jinki’s shorts, ending just above his knees and swallows thickly.

Jinki looks at him again and Jonghyun hopes that the expression on his face doesn’t appear too strange. 

“So what now?” Jinki asks him.

Jonghyun has no idea; it’s usually him who asks the questions and Jinki who grants the advice. “Maybe just… let them work it out themselves? It  _ is _ something between the two of them.”

He examines Jinki’s face for a sign; Jinki’s eyes are cast down in thought and Jonghyun wonders a little, about how much it would take to be privy to a few of them. Or just one.

And then the corner of Jinki’s mouth twists up, there’s a flash of white teeth and his lips are more pink and lush than his hair. He’s laughing and Jonghyun’s perplexed.

“What?” Jinki chuckles. “It’s just stress.”

Jonghyun falls forward – just short of landing in Jinki’s lap – and clasps him by the shoulders, shaking him as he chortles, “Hyung, this is serious!”

“Yeah, our dongsaengs are going to be the death of us. Absolutely serious.”

They’re both shivering with laughter; Jonghyun has Jinki in his arms and he has no idea what’s supposed to come next after this. He’s just glad there’s at least one secret out. 

“Jinki…” He calls out, teasingly. Gleefully. Joyfully. “You are something else.”

There’s a lull in the laughter as their gazes meet, hazy through the film over mirthful eyes.

Jonghyun seizes the moment.

It’s summer, a season he hates, but it’s crossing into an hour he loves. He’ll take what’s in-between and shoot it straight from his heart.

“You look so pretty, hyung.” A twirl of pink hair is wound around his finger, reminding him of a swirl of color on a popsicle in an ice-cream shop. “With the hair.”

The rest of Jinki feels secure and solid under him; he twists himself so that he’s looking straight into Jonghyun’s eyes and neither of them can look away now. Jonghyun knows it for sure, feels it burn down low in the pit of his belly. There’s even a shift in Jinki’s smile, one that’s loose and enticing. The hand that reaches to twist Jonghyun’s own strand of platinum blond hair makes his breath catch.

“Is that a sequel to our debut, hm?” Jinki murmurs. 

“Jinki,  _ neomu yeoppo _ …” Jonghyun sings, teasingly. He’s not going to wait for another verse to follow, but he has to make sure he’s on-track.

“Jinki, can I…”

The rest goes quiet, words falling out of order as Jinki’s mouth lands over his, feeling like summer in a song: hot and tinged with the type of wetness that makes his toes curl. It takes a while for the rest of Jonghyun to catch up, but he gets there, pushing Jinki further back so that he can climb onto his lap and give his fingers something to tug on.

It goes on; it could go on forever, if Jonghyun could have his way, even if his lungs give out. When it stops, it trickles down to subtle little touches and the press of his lips to Jinki’s jawline, and he fears if he says another word, it’s going to go the wrong way. 

“Took you long enough.” He whispers anyway, a hand entwining in Jinki’s hair.

Jinki’s eyes are at half-mast from under his mussed fringe and Jonghyun’s fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He makes sure to lace his free hand into Jinki’s as he gets up, pulling him away from the sofa. There’s not a word of protest as Jonghyun leads him into the studio and closes the door behind them. He feels Jinki’s lips on his neck before he can even turn around and his hands slipping under his shirt at the waist. There’s not much else to see in the dark; all he can take in is how the world seems to slow down until all he hears is the sound of each breath and his own heartbeat amplified. 

The lights stay off.

* * *

All five of them have to be at the airport in an hour and they’re already running late. Minho hates being late; it’s one of the few things he shares in common with Kibum. 

His skin crawls at the thought. This isn’t how he wants to begin his morning, so he heads back to the bathroom door and raps his knuckles again. A suspicious clatter answers, instead of Taemin. 

“What the hell are you doing in there?”

A faint ‘almost done, hyung!’ echoes from inside the bathroom, so Minho sighs and heads back to the living room. Jinki, Jonghyun and Kibum are already bunched together on the couch, in various degrees of sleepiness, so Minho has no choice but to keep standing. Which, given that there’s the tiniest sliver of sitting space right next to Kibum, suits him perfectly fine.

The bathroom door finally bursts open and Taemin almost flies into the kitchen, apologizing. It’s a cue for Jinki to spring to life and give him a cursory once-over before leading them out the door. Their luggage has already been sent ahead to the airport and checked-in in advance; there’d better be nothing left behind, although Minho anticipates the horror-stricken look on Taemin’s face when he drops a hand into his pocket, only to find it sans phone or wallet. Manager hyung has been smart enough to hold onto all of their passports this time, just to avoid the worst-case scenario.

As soon as they step out into the morning light for the brief walk from the building to the waiting van, Jonghyun squints around in disgust.

“Hate mornings.” He whinges. “Hate summer.”

The grouchiness is momentary, melting away as soon as he clambers into the air-conditioned vehicle, taking the seat next to Jinki. This leaves the seat next to them vacant, which Kibum flops into. Minho’s not going to thank him for that little stroke of convenience, but he’s grateful nonetheless as he moves into the backseat with Taemin. 

The drive to Incheon is peaceful, with all five of them nodding off for short intervals. Minho had gone to bed early last night for a change, leaving the rest to their own devices. It feels all the more unfair when he recollects how little sleep he had actually gotten. Even as he’d begun to drift off long after midnight, Jonghyun had swung open the door, emanating such an air of giddiness that Minho immediately rolled over to his other side to block the sight from his mind.

It hadn’t worked. Jonghyun never went out of his way to disturb Minho outright and although technically, this time had been no different, something had changed. After a few minutes of tossing about under his blanket, Minho had thrown it off and sent a glare in Jonghyun’s direction. Across from him, he could tell he was still awake.

Minho couldn’t understand it. There was a ripple of tension which had somehow entered the room with Jonghyun, or was it his own mind at work? He kept staring as Jonghyun shifted sporadically, twisting a foot under his sheet one moment, shoving his pillow into a new position the next. It got so exhausting to watch that Minho did eventually wear himself out. A few hours later, it was time to get out of bed and when Minho opened his eyes with a groan, Jonghyun’s bed was empty.

Since his room-mate is now seated right in front of him, humming along to the radio, there shouldn’t be any cause for concern. But it rubs Minho the wrong way for a reason he still can’t pinpoint and that irritates him most of all.

The feeling subsides a little when they reach the airport amidst the roar of ongoing traffic and the clicking of the cameras yielded by a dozen fansites waiting for them, but doesn’t completely die even after they receive their boarding passes and brace themselves for the security checks. In the lounge, nothing is out of the ordinary either, except for Taemin dropping his hand into his trouser pocket and discovering the wallet he’d lost three months ago.

After they board, Minho figures he’ll have at least a few hours of peace to himself and maybe figure things out without any more distractions. Then he looks to his left and finds Kibum in the seat next to him.

“Taemin wanted the window seat.”

Minho glances over Kibum’s head and finds that that’s true. Taemin offers him a cheeky little wave in return. 

There’s nothing else to do but stick with it. The business class cabin is full and SHINee’s professional reputation is not worth being compromised over a dumb argument over who got to sit where. It’s a few hours to bear, but Minho’s going to bear it.

Boarding completed. Time for the announcements, the safety reminders. The plane backs away from the gate and heads to the runway, speeds up, takes off, airborne. Another round of announcements, the inflight entertainment is switched on. Not that Minho’s going to need it; he’s bought a new book and he intends to make the best use of whatever advice it has to offer.

Against his better judgement, he sneaks the smallest glimpse he can of Kibum. It’s his hair that stands out most, the little streaks of green blending perfectly into the darker base shade. The color’s going to pop more once they’re on ground, under the sun. And that’s all Minho’s going to allow himself to think about. As the books say, discipline is essential to anything. Minho knows he can’t take another slip-up in his feelings.

But just another glimpse. He’s studiously avoided Kibum since waking up; scraps like these shouldn’t affect him anymore. Kibum’s hands are folded around each other and settled just under his chin. Minho follows his stare to the seats in front of them: Jinki and Jonghyun. Nothing else out of the ordinary. 

Kibum’s eyes, Kibum’s hands. 

Minho tears his own eyes away and focuses them down on the page before him, intent on washing out past actions with words. 

“They’ve fucked.”

The book flutters out of his grasp. Yet another word that held such power, if only to ignite that pesky flame deep down inside Minho. He inhales, forces it down and turns fully to glare at Kibum.

“What the hell?”

“It’s finally happened.” Kibum murmurs, almost to himself as he keeps eyeing their two unsuspecting oldest members. Minho tries to follow through on Kibum’s deduction, rapidly scanning both Jonghyun and Jinki for tell-tale signs. Jonghyun is absorbed in a book of his own; Jinki may have just dozed off with his headphones on. 

It hits Minho in a way he can’t comprehend and now the rest of his mind goes numb. Nothing seems to have changed, but it has.

“How…” He almost has to spit out the question. “How do you…”

“I heard them come home last night. They were talking and then it all went quiet. Then I peeked out through my door and they were there, making out in the hallway. Don’t think they saw me.” 

Minho thanks any every deity he can bring to mind for the fact that he’s had to take this news sitting down. 

“But that’s just kissing. Not – ”

“They definitely fucked.” Kibum presses on. “Jonghyun hasn’t turned that page since half an hour.”

“Maybe he’s tired. He was tossing and turning again last night.”

Kibum’s shaking his head slowly, a smirk forming. “I caught them again in the kitchen this morning. Jinki hyung had his arms around him while they were at the sink. You know that back-hug thing he does? But the hands down lower this time. I think  _ they _ think I didn’t notice that.”

“That still doesn’t prove anything else happened last night.”

“You’re not looking properly. That’s post-coital glow right in front of us.”

Glow. Minho’s never heard it like that. Glow. There’s an etherealness to that type of word. He should’ve paid closer attention to how Jonghyun looked this morning.

He wonders if he himself has ever looked like that. Glowing. After every time he and Kibum…

“Just shut up, Kibum.”

Minho doesn’t have to look at Kibum to know that his eyes are narrowing. “I’m merely observing, Minho.”

“Well, I’m not interested. So shut it.”

Back to the sentence in his book, the same one he’s been trying to read for the fifth time. The words are right there, perfectly framed and conjugated in a context he can at least relate to. On the sixth attempt, he still can’t get beyond it. Of course, Kibum is to blame.

He sets down the book so he can properly glare at him.

“Why’d you have to bring it up anyway?”

Kibum shrugs and Minho knows it means exactly the opposite of what it’s supposed to convey. “What difference does it make now? You said you’re not interested. I’ll speak no more about it.”

“Don’t play coy.” The one thought in Minho’s mind stings bitterly on his tongue, but he lets it out anyway. “You’re just trying to mess with my head again.”

The reaction isn’t one he expects.

“What?!” 

Kibum’s face is now just inches away from his. In front of them, Jinki stirs and Jonghyun twists around with a warning stare. This puts another inch or two between him and Kibum, but the heat’s far from out. As soon as Jonghyun looks away, Minho fires back:

“Just like in the beginning. You wanted me to keep your bed warm.”

He makes sure he speaks slowly and clearly. It’s low enough to keep to themselves, loud enough for only Kibum to hear.

“I know it’s my fault for liking you first. It’s my fault for wanting too much from you. It’s my fault I said ‘yes’ to everything you wanted from me. So stop pretending that we can go back to being friends after all this.”

Setting the truth free was supposed to set him free too. Minho had pushed himself into believing that he was done with lying to himself. But as Kibum shifts away from him, pale and trembling, there’s a pull at his heart he isn’t the least bit prepared for.

Kibum looks like he’s about to say something, but it’s only a shaky little breath he lets out before unbuckling his seatbelt and rushing to the end of the cabin where the restrooms are located. Jonghyun follows after him almost immediately.

For all the hurt he’s suffered in the last few days, Minho’s not sure he wants to know why this feels like the worst blow.

* * *

It’s not the first time Kibum’s ended up in a random restroom, crying his eyes out. It’s probably not even the worst time; at least, he’s now got someone to rub his back and console him, though he likely deserves none of it.

Minho’s wrong; it’s all  _ his _ fault. Kibum’s fault.

He can’t bear to lift his head to look in the mirror above the sink. In the meantime, Jonghyun has one warm hand stroking his back comfortingly and the other dabbing his streaming face with tissues. The used ones are piling up around the sink, heaps of snowy white balls. Kibum would stay in here forever, if he could.

He can’t.

“You sure you want to head back out now?” There’s genuine concern in Jonghyun’s voice. Kibum must really look like a mess, but he nods, hears his own voice breathe a meek ‘yes’. Jonghyun releases the catch on the door and lets Kibum walk out first. It feels too soon before he’s back in his seat again. 

Minho has his gaze firmly affixed to his book. Kibum does nothing more to change that.

* * *

It’s afternoon when they touch ground in Bangkok. As soon as they clear Immigration and make their way outside, there’s a pleasant scorch in the sunlight that reminds Jinki of the last time he’d been here, filming  _ One Fine Day _ . A televised holiday; just more work. It’s still more work ahead of them, crammed into the next few days but the night before had lifted a veil off of Jinki’s eyes and the world now seems to calmly lie in wait.

It began with Jonghyun and Jinki doesn’t quite know where it’s going yet. Another secret glance, another discreet brush of a hand to thigh, even just the way his name was called. Just as long as it began with Jonghyun.

Though the windows in their van are tinted, it’s still a clear, blue sky which hangs over them. Jinki’s tired, but the sight still lifts his mood. His eyes search for Jonghyun and finds him next to Kibum. Jonghyun’s eyes are glazed over in thought, mouth in a firm line. Jinki takes a closer look at Kibum and the red bloodshot eyes he barely discerns under the other’s lashes sends a cold jolt through him.

Minho’s staring outside the window opposite Jinki. Jinki wonders if he really sees anything. 

They reach the hotel with a few hours to spare before the first shoot in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Rooms are allocated and Jinki ends up with Taemin while Jonghyun immediately snags Kibum as a roommate. Minho doesn’t complain about sharing with their manager. Jinki’s not sure he’s heard Minho utter a word since they’d left Korea. Now that they’ve been divided by rooms again, he’s not going to have the convenience of a quick heart-to-heart with either him or Kibum for a while.

Or Jonghyun.

Jinki knows it’s selfish. He knows it is, as he lies down on the hotel bed in the room he shares with Taemin, and finds his mind wandering just down the hallway – again – to Jonghyun.

“Are you okay, hyung?”

Taemin’s question startles him. “Um, yeah? Yeah. Sure.”

“You just seem… different.”

It’s something to ponder. Maybe living in a bubble made one all the more aware of the microcosm contained within. Things have been changing for a while now and perhaps it was time to come clean. 

But then Taemin blows a strand of lavender bangs away from his face and goes back to his phone as he lays back in his own bed, and Jinki thinks that just maybe, he can put off this talk for a little while longer. 

“You know, different cities, different time-zones, Taemin. We’re two hours behind in Bangkok now; I’ve aged in reverse. Two hours younger.”

“That’s…” No matter how easily Taemin snickers, he’s not going to question Jinki’s judgement. “So weird, hyung. Just like you.”

“Aigoo, you’re weird too, Taemin-ah.”

Taemin stretches his leg at an angle so that the tip of his longest toe barely pokes Jinki’s foot which rests on the edge of the other bed. “Weirder.”

Jinki lacks both the flexibility and ready wit to retaliate spontaneously so he lets Taemin off with a smile, tells him to rest well and turns over to his other side, closing his eyes. In spite of everything between the rest of his members that had seemed to pass right under his nose until now, sleep soon liberates his mind and the next two hours are enveloped in a cozy, dark warmth.

They’re woken up in time to wash up, change into their performance outfits for the shoot and hurried to another van to be shuttled to the location. Jinki glances around, taking in the composure on Minho and Kibum’s faces. They’re ready to work and he knows it. The glance then lands on Jonghyun and it feels like they’ve come full circle. Just a few feet apart that feel like miles, a blinking game that continues long after they’ve looked away.

As the production director gathers them around to clarify the vision they’re going for today, Jinki steels himself to get through to the end of it. He’ll receive whatever it throws at him and take only what carries him to tomorrow. He’ll lead and he’ll trust the rest to follow, as always. It’s now time for a practice run-through; to each of his members’ credit, it flows so smoothly that the impressed expressions on the technical crew’s faces are well-earned. Then comes the actual filming.

Take one: cue the music and everyone’s already in their positions.

Take three: the movements are already ingrained into their limbs. It’s only the atmosphere that takes getting used to.

Take five: they’ve gotta get this right. After all, it’s Jonghyun’s lyrics that they’re supposed to be singing from the tops of their lungs. And if there’s anything Jinki knows about Jonghyun’s words, it’s that he means each and every one of them.

One more glance in the right direction catches Jonghyun at the right moment, open-mouthed grin and bleached hair slipping onto the sides of his forehead. It’s not aimed at him, but Jinki feels it strike him to the core. It’s the image which is going to be burned into the back of his eyelids when he tries to sleep later; Jonghyun, softness and sex appeal embodied in a sleeveless band tee, a vision he’s only been granted in a late-night fantasy.

The moment passes and then there’s no more time for anything but getting the last take right. It goes as planned, it’s a wrap. Well done.

“Well done.” Multiplied by four from Jinki to each of them, accompanied by a pat on the back. There’s a hand on his back too, a hot press of skin just over his shoulder-blade, and he doesn’t have to look to know who it is. It’s a hand he’d become more than well-acquainted with on the night before they flew out; in Seoul, on the floor of a recording studio, slipping in underneath the waistband of his shorts to stroke him to completion.

“Well done, hyung.”

Jonghyun. Jonghyun-ah. Jonghyunnie. Just Jonghyun. Always Jonghyun.

It’s going to be a long few nights ahead for Jinki. Jonghyun has Kibum to fuss over and keep himself occupied with as they try to untangle the knot that forms the crux of Kibum’s love life. 

Then again, Jinki can wait for the next right moment. He’s had years of experience.

* * *

It’s a fact that Minho’s not blind; an obvious one. He has eyes, eyes which note the attractiveness of each of their female co-stars who’ll be sharing their screen-time on  _ View _ . He won’t deny that they’re pretty, because why else would they be cast? That and none of them seem to speak a word of Korean, so SM’s plans of quashing any onset summer romances are a guaranteed success.

Too bad it’s not the girls who keep catching Minho’s eye.

A clear summer in Bangkok would’ve been the definition of heaven for the many tourists who frolic around the city. It’s a tempting kind of energy Minho tries to emulate on the second day of shooting. The vibe they’re going for is refreshing and carefree. Minho can work with that; he wants to, so badly.

His efforts certainly aren’t unrewarded. SHINee’s Minho pops on-screen, smolders with intensity, so perfectly perfect for the atmosphere, much to the director’s delight. He supposes he should be happy.

There’s a shot where he does feel happiness vibrating throughout his being; one under the sky as it transitions from late afternoon to sundown. The peachy gold tone of the light brings out the natural coloring of Kibum’s skin and darkens his hair so that the rest of his face stands out. It’s an unusual face, a pretty one in its own odd way. Minho can’t deny that. 

It’s a shot which has Kibum dancing in the midst of the girls, which is already unfair for the latter because there’s few people who know how to work a solo shot like Kibum does. Even while his back faces him, Minho can tell he’s smiling with the dimples showing. It’s been a while since Minho’s seen them at all, let alone up close.

Glow. Glowing. This should be what it means to ‘glow’. Just a feeling in itself and not attached to post-coital bliss or whatever that entails. Kibum’s been wrong about a lot of things, so Minho doesn’t see how he can’t be wrong about what went on between them.

Then there’s Jinki and Jonghyun. Minho spies them in a corner where they think they’re sequestered off from the entire city, seated in two white plastic chairs provided by the local crew. Jonghyun chatters and Jinki smiles while he listens, which is nothing out of the ordinary because Jinki is usually sweet on Jonghyun and that seems to have been the order of things for the last few months in which Minho has noticed.

But then they both look up at each other simultaneously and Minho doesn’t see as much he feels the spark. The afterglow. They’re alone enough for Jonghyun to lean in closer to Jinki and for Jinki to move forward from his chair and –

There’s Taemin walking in, arms outstretched over his head and eyes thankfully closed in a yawn as he plops himself down on Jonghyun’s lap. The moment may be ruined, but the spell isn’t broken. Minho’s not sure how he knows that.

After it’s finally a wrap, they’re shuttled into the van and then driven back to the hotel. Minho expects nothing more from the day than a cool shower and a soft bed underneath his back, until there’s a loud tap on his door. He opens it and there’s Jonghyun.

“You left your dirty gym shorts in my suitcase.”

This jars Minho back into alertness. “I did  _ not _ .”

“Yes, you did.”

“Why would my shorts end up in  _ your _ suitcase anyway?”

“Because you suck at packing.” Jonghyun frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “Now come get them.”

Minho scowls, but follows Jonghyun to his room and stalks around it, hunting for his shorts. He does come across Kibum seated at the foot of his bed and duly ignores his presence until:

“I lied. No shorts.”

Jonghyun is so lucky he’s older. 

“Hyung, what the hell?”

The smile on Jonghyun’s lips is a sly one and he’s smart enough to put enough distance between himself and Minho to avoid being reached for. “Kibum has something to say. I’m sure you can listen for a minute.”

“Wait, what – ”

“I’m going out with Jinki and Taeminnie to the night market.” Jonghyun’s grin is the last thing Minho sees before the door closes. “And the key card’s coming with me too!”

The lock clicks into place.

It’s happened so soon and Minho’s been so stupid, he could kick himself. At least that would amuse Kibum.

_ Kibum _ . He’s in the same room as Kibum. Minho’s stomach clenches as he turns around to face him.

A silence falls. The soft kind that’s tensed with electricity, or the closest thing it feels like. Kibum is sitting right before him with his head bowed. It’s a position that doesn’t suit him at all. All the color and energy which had radiated off of him a few hours ago has been drained. Minho’s seen all of his members look pale and wan at some point; it’s never been because of him.

“Minho.” Kibum begins, still not looking up at him. “Sit. Please.”

He pats the space next to him on the bed. Minho eyes it warily, but complies. When they sit side-by-side, he realizes that they’re both still in their outfits from the shoot. The clothes by themselves are comfortable, but they’ve been running around all day under the sun and Minho’s sure Kibum’s just as sweaty and sticky as he is.

Seconds more of uncomfortable silence before Kibum finally speaks again.

“Don’t blame Jonghyun for this. I wanted to talk to you.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “You couldn’t just come tell me by yourself?”

“Would you have listened?”

He’s got a point. There’s nowhere to run with the door locked. He’ll let Kibum have his say and then leave.

“Okay. Go on.”

Yet more silence, punctuated by Kibum’s low, even breaths. Minho’s only heard him breathe this close when he’s asleep.

And then it’s finally let out: “I’m sorry.”

Minho can feel Kibum’s eyes on him now, gauging his reaction. He tightens his clasped hands around each other and brings them to rest under his chin; Kibum’s not going to get the benefit of one.

“I told Youngbin that there’s no way that I can be with him.”

Minho’s resolve breaks.

“You did?” He manages to choke out. “Why?”

“I told him I had someone else who’s been on my mind for a while.”

“On your… mind.”

“Yeah.” There’s a flush building on Kibum’s face. “To his credit, he took it quite well. He said that ‘someone else’ got pretty lucky.”

Minho can’t help it. He laughs. The flush on Kibum’s cheeks intensifies as his cackles hit a higher note. 

“I’m being serious, Minho.”

“Sure. Like you were when I was supposed to be your fuck buddy.”

“That wasn’t – ”

“It wasn’t anything close to serious, from what you implied, Kibum. ‘Just stress relief, Minho, take it as you wish’. And I took it because I was stupid enough to hope there could be something more.”

“You’re  _ not _ stupid, Minho.” Kibum makes a motion like he wants to reach out for him, but thinks better of it. “You’re not. I’m the stupid one.”

It’s enough to make Minho pause.

“Let me finish?” Kibum pleads.

After a moment’s contemplation, he nods. 

“I… I like you, Minho. It’s been that way for the last year, believe it or not. At first, I thought it was just… a crush. It’s happened with guys I’ve been friends with before, so I didn’t think it’d be any different. I just assumed it’d fizzle out eventually. Except it didn’t.” 

He feels Kibum’s eyes on him again, waiting for something. When it doesn’t come, he picks up where he left off.

“We’re so different, you know. There’s nothing we have in common except SHINee, so I kept telling myself to give up on it. I started looking at other guys again, just to take my mind off you. And every time I thought I was over you, you’d do something to make those feelings come back again. I thought…

“I thought I was gonna go crazy.”

When Kibum leaves off again, the silence goes on longer. It’s loud and heavy; Minho feels it like a weight on his chest. A sound finally makes him look up and around, but it’s coming from Kibum. It’s a laugh; not the happy kind.

“You know those one-sided love songs we sing? The real thing’s nothing like that. It’s not romantic or cute. It’s just distance. It’s  _ only  _ distance and that’s all it seems to be, except that it’s in your head. And with you being so close… I didn’t want to destroy our friendship. We’d just begun to get along as friends and I didn’t think you’d see me as anything else.

“Then Youngbin came around and I thought I’d finally have a chance at moving on. He seemed like… straight out of a drama. So when he asked for my number, I was floored. I thought I couldn’t say no. We kept texting and I really thought I was falling for him. Eighteen year old Kim Kibum would have in a heartbeat.”

The laugh flitters around the room again, prickly and raw. “He asked me out to dinner a week after we met. The day he asked me out, you kissed me in the locker-room.”

Even though there’s nothing accusatory in Kibum’s tone, there’s a sickly twist of guilt in Minho’s gut.

“I keep going back to that moment, no matter what. Even while I was with Youngbin that night, it was right there at the back of my mind. Even when he kissed me in his car, it was you again. Back in my head. And I hated myself for it. I wanted to hate you too. Seeing you in the dorm afterwards just set off everything I felt for you and then I…”

Kibum’s breath catches, but he stutters on. “I… I… I fucked up. I fucked us up.”

Minho remembers it clearly: how it began with Kibum almost tripping over one of the Playstation controller cords and then harping on about what an immature slob Minho was. It had already stung him bad enough to watch Kibum go off with another man; a stylish, sophisticated man who probably ticked all the right boxes on Kibum’s extensive checklist. Thinking more about it had drawn Minho into a black hole of pain, the type he wasn’t used to dealing with. 

_ You really hurt me _ , he’d wanted to say and it’s still true. Video-games and soccer might have meant shit to Kibum, but Minho hadn’t known how else to cope and if a dumb cord on the floor was enough to get Kibum riled up, Minho still had other artillery to fire back with. It went from Kibum being a precious little snob to Minho acting like a stubborn pig to Kibum having nothing better to do than pick and poke and criticize to Minho not having enough brain-cells to power the vacuum cleaner his soccer cleats were in desperate need of. The battle had begun in the living-room and soon overflowed into the kitchen as Minho trailed Kibum past the fridge and then the microwave, neither of them close to a truce. 

It had gotten so bad that Jonghyun and Taemin quietly retreated to their own personal spaces, while Jinki stepped in with a firm order:  _ “Get a room.” _

Then: Kibum’s room.

Minho’s not optimistic; he knows he’s never going to remember Kibum’s room as just four walls, a bed and a dresser. For him, it’ll now always be the pale yellow lamp that’s switched on, casting light that creates shadows on Kibum’s cheek and collarbones. It’ll be the rug which stifles Kibum’s steps as he strides to him, face white with anger, it’ll be the air that’s suddenly trapped in Minho’s chest when Kibum draws too near. It’ll be the  _ ‘why, why, why can’t you just leave me alone’ _ as Kibum takes a hold of his shirt and clenches, not even close to the skin. It’ll be Kibum’s bony wrists in his grip as he tries to push away, but somehow ends up pulling him closer.

It’ll be the dark wildness in Kibum’s eyes as he wrenches his hands out of Minho’s and slides them up to cup his chin with no tenderness, his mouth scorching into his. It’ll be the hope Minho had carried over from every day spent dreaming of this moment going up in flames as Kibum breaks off in time to mutter,  _ ‘Just stress relief’ _ . 

_ ‘It’s nothing serious, _ ’ He remembers Kibum repeating as they rid each other of their clothes.  _ ‘You want this, don’t you?’ _

And Minho remembers his answer, pressed onto Kibum’s tongue, struggling to find that trace of real desire that had so briefly stoked his in the locker-room a few days ago. He remembers every morning he’d opened his eyes again, disturbed by the sun through the glass, tasting ashes in his mouth, every night before that culminating in him sneaking back to his own barren bed. The first time they’d fucked in the shower – with Kibum’s fingers splayed over his mouth to stifle the gasps – Minho remembers rinsing his mouth over the sink, expecting to taste blood from where he’d bitten his own tongue.

Minho can’t remember thinking about why he wouldn’t let it go. He just remembers grasping for anything: the bare skin of Kibum’s back as he moved inside him, his hair in his fist as his head moved down between his legs, the last gasp he’d let out into Minho’s mouth in the heat of climax. Anything, any little thing at all for a sign that he wasn’t the only one searching.

“Minho? Look at me, please?”

Kibum’s voice is small and breaks over the last word. When Minho obliges him, he shifts a little closer, their knees almost brushing.

“I really am sorry. It’s probably too late, I know.” There’s a visible tremor in Kibum’s clasped hands and this is when Minho knows he’s close to tears. “I ruined whatever we had because I was stupid and selfish and I took you for granted. And if you don’t ever want to talk to me again…”

He stops, swallows, then whispers: “I understand.”

Minho’s silent and Kibum seems to be taking this as he expects him to; he knows Minho’s angry and hurt and confused. He’s going to back off now and call Jonghyun to tell him to let Minho out of their room. He’s preparing to get up and go.

“Kibum.” The sound of his name from Minho’s mouth startles Kibum and he looks up in time to find his arms outstretched towards him. “Come here.”

It’s the first time Kibum’s does what Minho tells him to; he steps in hesitantly enough, but Minho’s ready for this. He draws his arms around him and holds him close, hoping that it’ll stifle the tremors that still run through Kibum’s body.

It feels strange. It feels good.

Kibum tilts his head forward so that it rests on Minho’s shoulder, carefully wrapping his own arms around Minho’s waist. Kibum holds onto him like he’s fragile, like he’s going to slip away into the encroaching twilight dark of the city that lies beyond the window. There’s nothing carnal propelling either of them into it; Minho knows this for sure. He could do with more of it.

“I’m not sorry.” He murmurs into Kibum’s ear. “For kissing you that day.”

Kibum stills in his arms, so Minho knows he’s listening. 

“I really liked you too. I still do.”

It’s quiet enough for him to hear the scoff Kibum lets out before he lifts his head to face him. “Seriously, Minho?”

“Why’d you think I stuck around afterwards?”

Minho knows he has to allow it to sink in for himself, as much as for Kibum. It’s something that’s been sitting unsettled between them for a long time; it’s been a year of secretive sidelong glances that drifted away as soon as one realized the other was staring. There’d been barbs of tension hidden beneath the most innocuous comments, like there is now. They’ve wasted enough time trying to pick them apart.

“I didn’t know what it was at first, Kibum. I thought I was just beginning to like you as a friend.  _ Really _ like you. Even when there were days when I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when I did figure out it was different, you seemed so… distant. So then I thought I didn’t stand a chance, especially when you started dating other people. But…”

In hindsight, Minho supposes he should have seen the lump in his throat coming, no thanks to the way Kibum looks at him.

“I… I still wanted you. And then that rich model prick with the Audi showed up, and you were so taken up with him, and I hated it, and I knew I was being dumb about it and I should’ve let you go, and… moved on. But I’m not sorry I kissed you when I did. It’s just that… I wish I’d done more to make you stay after I did it.”

He’s the one who’s overcome now, shivering from nerves. A familiar warmth engulfs his face and he realizes a second later that it’s because of Kibum’s hands cupping his face.

“Minho,” He’s saying. “Pretend we’re back in the locker-room.” 

“Huh?”

It’s grown darker inside the room, but Kibum’s eyes gleam. 

“If you want to, you can… you can kiss me.” There’s not a tremble this time, although his voice seems to vibrate with a tone that sends sparks up Minho’s spine. “Right now. I want you to.”

Minho lowers his eyes to his lips, takes in the smallest breath, and leans in for it. It’s softer this time around, more sure of the moment. He feels Kibum’s hands travel further up his back, silently encouraging, his mouth pliant in return. The first melts into the second, the third, the fourth.

The seventh finds Kibum’s tongue waiting as his lips part further, allowing Minho inside the wet cavern.

The tenth leads them across the narrow length of Kibum’s bed as Minho uses his knee to nudge the other’s thighs apart.

“Minho,” Kibum’s saying again and Minho wants to hear that again, even when they aren’t doing this. “Minho…”

Kibum’s hand is on his chest, gently pushing him back so that they’re both sitting up. “No offense, but we’ve both been sweating all day. I probably smell gross.”

“So, you’re saying you want to stop right here?”

Minho’s already pulling back, but Kibum has him by the wrist, a sweet crooked grin forming on kiss-swollen lips.

“I’m saying that there’s a shower in the bathroom.”

* * *

There’s enough going on around Jonghyun as it is: people strolling from stall to stall, sampling bite-sized portions of baby pineapple and durian, milling around the grills on which lay crabs, fish, and various weird little mollusks, all under rows and rows of bright neon lights that poured over everything like electric sunshine, even scattering over the black water just under the piers. There’s noise too: a cacophony of languages immersed in conversation and laughter. It’s almost enough for him to miss out on the buzz of his phone against his thigh in the pocket of his jeans.

He pulls it out, swipes and takes seconds to absorb what he reads from Kibum.

“Looks like I’m spending the night with Manager hyung instead.”

Between munches of fried calamari, it’s still easy to distinguish Taemin’s confused grunt as he makes this announcement. Jonghyun pulls out a tissue from the box placed in the center of their table and patiently dabs at the smear of sweet ‘n’ spicy sauce on the corner of Taemin’s mouth.

“Kibum and Minho are on speaking terms again.” He explains.

Even though Jinki’s immersed in his bowl of tom yum across from them, Jonghyun can tell he’s listening too.

Taemin swallows his mouthful of seafood, but the frown remains on his face. “So why does that mean you have to take Minho’s room? Haven’t they worked things out now?”

“It’s just a few kinks, Taeminnie.”

From the corner of his eye, he watches Jinki’s lips curve upwards. “I’m sure they’ll be totally fine in the morning.”

Taemin eyes him curiously, but eventually decides to refocus on his meal. From up and over the stalls lined to their right is the ferris-wheel all three of them had ridden earlier, still drenched in light and circling on, probably throughout the rest of the night. Right in front of Jonghyun is his bowl of rice noodle salad, a transparent plastic cup of watermelon juice and his notepad, lined with black-inked chicken scratch.

“You’re missing out on dinner, hyung. Are you really writing a song here?”

“Maybe.” Jonghyun relents. “A song for me. Or a song for us.”

“Write me one about jokbal when we’re in Korea.”

“Aish,” But it’s Taemin asking, so all he gets from Jonghyun is a pinch to his cheek. “Of course.”

He receives a victorious snigger in return before Taemin goes back to crunching down on a crab leg. Jonghyun looks down at his mess of notes and thinks that it’s maybe high time he got down to devouring his own order. The notes are then set aside for the noodles and he lifts the bowl to his mouth for the first bite while under the table, his big toe stops momentarily in its exploration of the slope of Jinki’s foot.

Their eyes meet; the first mouthful slides down Jonghyun’s throat.

A blink later, he slides his own foot back into his waiting loafer, until the next opportunity arises. The smile on Jinki’s lips shows no sign of fading away.   
  



	3. lights

** _lights_ **

_ to that beautiful place, take me to that beautiful place  _

_ \-  _ _ _ view; shinee _ _

Seoul: at night, a full moon. Another hotel room, in which a candle burns. It’s the only source of light; the rest is neon, outside in the real world, an artificial cosmos scattered on signs and streetlights. Two bodies, one shadow; a trail of clothes on the floor, forgotten. Sheets creased, rustled, shucked down almost off the bed as the dance continues. One movement, angled and precise, and Jonghyun’s seeing stars.

_ God _ , he dubs Jinki in a paroxysm of ecstasy that borders on agony as that most private nexus inside him is struck over and over again, with a resolve so close to worship. The gasp escapes from his mouth into Jinki’s above him; all Jinki does is press deeper into him, tipping the endearment back against Jonghyun’s throat,  _ O God _ . 

The last few hours have been flung far out into the night; the rest of the world seems to run on infinitely, ending and beginning with each stroke inside Jonghyun. He’s already spilling over between himself and Jinki. There’s another moan buried into his throat; Jinki’s close.

“Baby,” He calls out, barely louder than a whisper. “Jinki…”

It all goes light as Jinki lets go; it’s more than enough for Jonghyun. Each throb of release is a hard pulse of heat. It’s enough to get high on, a moment built around years of yearning, the loneliest nights absolved with just another kiss.

Jinki pulls out of him; outside the room they’d booked for one night only, a motorcycle engine roars in the wind, fading into the distance in a manner of seconds. As it all goes quiet, Jonghyun reaches down and tugs the condom off for Jinki, both of them lying spent.

“I…” Jonghyun knows what’s about to come next, but he wills himself to stop in time. The little gap of silence is soon closed as Jinki kisses him full on the mouth again, then follows the trail of hickies he’d left from their last round from neck to chest.

“The coordi noonas are gonna lose it when they see you after tomorrow.” Jinki murmurs in-between more kisses, sucking into the skin where he’s bitten. “It might be too much to cover up, even with the concealer.”

Jonghyun lets loose a laugh into what remains of the dark. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, of course.”

The candle’s still burning; it’s been a good few hours since they’d stepped inside this room. Jonghyun had lit it himself – fingers shaking a little as he’d tried to set the mood – before turning back to Jinki, sliding his mouth against the other’s, guiding hesitant hands to smoothen his shirt, unbutton it, unwrap him like an offering.

Jinki’s reserve hadn’t lasted long; he’d settled comfortably between Jonghyun’s thighs, his exploration extending from hips to neck. Jonghyun had encouraged him further, coaxing his fingers into places held sacred for only the two of them. Jinki had entered him slowly, carefully, pressing a gentle kiss onto Jonghyun’s jaw each time it tensed from the pressure of being filled.

Then it was slower, cautious, Jinki pushing in until he was buried to the hilt and pulling out fully again. Jonghyun had taken his time too, letting Jinki know what he liked, exactly where to go. And when Jinki finally hit that spot, Jonghyun knew he could leave the rest to him.

Jinki had come inside him with a cry that buzzed with relief; Jonghyun couldn’t have been more thankful for that. He’d leaned up to take Jinki by the lips again and received kiss after kiss like a benediction. And when Jinki stirred against him, hard on his thigh again, Jonghyun willingly laid himself open for a second round.

This time, Jinki came in fully aware of his capabilities and the possibilities glistening on Jonghyun’s skin. It was rougher, yet tender in every way. There might be teeth marks on Jonghyun’s chest, but he knows that his clutch on Jinki’s back and shoulders throughout would leave imprints of their own.

Jinki’s mouth moves more softly now, with just the slightest hint of tongue as he traces Jonghyun’s nipple. When Jonghyun arches weakly into this torture, he can feel the smile that stretches along Jinki’s lips on his skin.

“Jinki…” He begs as the smile travels lower, a kiss placed on each rib as it descends. “Jinki, I… I…”

“What do you wanna do?” Jinki does not look up, the answer already evident in the dip of his tongue on Jonghyun’s body. “Tell me. Baby.”

The last word’s punctuated by a nip to the skin just above his navel, which almost sends Jonghyun’s mind into oblivion. Instead, he reaches until he finds Jinki’s hand and grasps it, bringing it up to press to his own lips.

_ You _ .

A kiss to each knuckle, the last earning the tiniest flicker of tongue.

_ You. You. You. _

Jinki pauses in his ministrations to take in the sight before him. The candlelight is dying out, so Jonghyun decides to make the best of what’s left to see before they sink into the darkness. Even then, he knows the overwhelming sea of affection that swells inside him is mirrored on every corner of Jinki’s face. He can’t help but take a second to kiss it again. 

It feels miles above perfect; too good to let slip away.

Jonghyun opens his eyes, breathes in the scent of vanilla bean and musk. It’s a place he’s come to love for the moment, but he’ll still allow it to fade away in the wake of the light that shines in Jinki’s eyes. He’ll not think for a minute longer, not when they have the rest of the night to discover together.

When the morning comes, it’ll be bright and it’ll be beautiful.

He lets Jinki encircle him in his arms again. It’s summer contained inside an hour he loves and there’s no place he’d rather be than now.

* * *

It’s times like these that make Kibum contemplate his current place in the world and what on earth he’d done to get here.

For one, it’s an indoor soccer field, complete with bright green artificial turf and fluorescent balls lying in polished heaps in a corner, something so completely out of the ordinary for him that he’d had to take such a moment to question his senses. Seeing the smile that lights up Choi Minho’s face, even when he’s more than ten feet away from him, makes the world just that much tolerable for now.

“All right, Kibum, just pace me now and see if you can trap me, like I showed you.”

If this is what pacing is, Kibum wonders what he’s been doing all this time save for following Minho around as he tries to teach him basic soccer skills. It’s supposed to take two of them to have a good time, so he’s glad for anything that helps him make it up to Minho. Even after their shared confessions in Bangkok, he knows that it’s going to take more effort to keep the momentum of their relationship going.

Hell, if it takes a few soccer dates, Kibum’s okay with that. If it makes Minho happy, Kibum’s more than okay.

“Now trap me!” Minho commands.

Kibum immediately dashes towards him and tries to seize his wrists. Minho’s wised up from his last attempt at this though and nabs Kibum in a tight grip of his own.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He grins.

Kibum feigns ignorance. “Of course, I didn’t. Why else would I have done that?”

“Because…” A lightbulb goes on in Minho’s head and his smile falters. “Red card!”

“What the fu – ”

“You’re harassing the referee!”

“Aren’t you supposed to have two yellows before you’re sent off?” Kibum decides he might as well take complete advantage of this position and allows himself to slump forward into Minho’s grasp. “Bad call, coach.”

“I should never have brought you here.”

“Heh, I’ll take responsibility for that. It was my idea after all.”

It was. Kibum can still hardly believe it; yet he liked to think he’d earned such a moment as the one now, running his hands up the smoothness of Minho’s upper arms with the most innocuous smile he can muster.

“C’mon, coach. It’s been two hours. I’m tired. I’m sweaty. I’m hungry. Haven’t I worked hard enough?”

“Not as hard as you are now.”

“My  _ God _ , Minho!” Kibum immediately pushes away in disgust as the grin returns in full force on Minho’s face. “Stop hanging out with Jinki hyung. Bad puns don’t suit you as well.”

“Just stating facts, is all.”

But it  _ is _ late and Kibum can tell Minho knows his limits. An arm is slipped around his as they head back to the locker-rooms to gather their things, which comes as a surprise to Kibum. Minho certainly never lacks affection. Maybe these things would come gradually to Kibum too: spontaneous hand-holding, footsteps in sync outside of their choreos, finishing each other’s sentences.

“You know, I still can’t believe you agreed to come here.” Minho speaks up after a while. “I really had fun tonight, Kibum.”

That had been the point. Kibum should have expected the outcome, but he’s still not prepared for the warmth filling inside his chest, which makes him feel a little helpless. He looks at Minho again and catches the corner of his smile: full and content and utterly brilliant.

Inside the locker-room, they go about things as normal. Sweat-soaked clothes are pulled off and stuffed into drawstring bags that go back into their lockers before they head to the showers. It’s late enough that no one else is around, leaving the space to themselves. There’s no room for self-consciousness; not that either of them feel that way at the sight of the other’s bare body anymore.

As soon as the hot water streams over Kibum’s head, it’s all that fills his mind. He keeps his eyes shut, squeezing as much out of the heat as he can. It’s just enough to hear the sound of a shampoo bottle popping open over the splashes.

“Kibum?”

He’s memorized Minho’s touch by now; a little clumsy, a little curious, always so eager to please. 

“Can I… wash your hair?”

It’s the conditioner that’s supposed to go in first, but Kibum nods anyway. “Please.”

He tips his head back. Minho’s fingers hesitate a little, but once they find their rhythm, it’s magic. They work their way through Kibum’s scalp, gentle and thorough. Kibum exhales, relaxing his shoulders; Minho must be so near. Their bodies aren’t touching, but he swears he can feel him all the same.

The fingers travel to the sides now. There’s not much Kibum can say to guide Minho any further; he knows where he’s going with this.

“Thank you.”

It’s just a breath; an exhale. Kibum knows Minho hears it somehow.

The hands leave his head and Kibum tips forward slightly to rinse off the shampoo. It sluices into the hot stream, milky blue.

“The shower gel’s right over there.”

It’s in Minho’s hand now. Kibum takes it from him, snaps it open and pours out a palm-sized dollop.

“Don’t you need a loofah or…” Minho’s question dies once he feels Kibum’s gaze land on him. 

“I’d like it much better this way.”

He can tell Minho agrees.

Kibum steps in further so that Minho can share his space. Those pecs are first on his list; he carefully spreads enough gel on his fingertips to spread over the bronzed skin. He makes sure to press into the left side; Minho shudders under him as his heart flutters. Kibum moves deftly enough to work up a lather on his chest. The only way from here is down.

But first: he kisses Minho. He’s been thirsting for it since they started. 

There’s nothing hesitant about the way Minho kisses back. Kibum’s kept him waiting and neither of them can thank the other enough.

* * *

In the morning, Jinki drives up to the nearest café, orders five iced Americanos and an assortment of pastries, then speeds off into the approaching sunrise. It sounds funnier in his head; maybe Jonghyun’s the only other person in the world who sees the humor in it, since he’s right there in the passenger seat, smiling.

It’s all Jinki can ever ask for.

And it’s a dream come true. Last night had really happened and he’d awoken right before dawn to find himself nuzzled into Jonghyun’s sleeping form. He’d lain awake to watch the planes of light carve out a halo from the moonbeams in Jonghyun’s hair as it fanned out over the pillow. When Jonghyun’s eyelids had finally lifted upwards in a sleepy greeting, Jinki kissed them shut again.

In spite of the showers they’d taken as soon as they’d managed to drag themselves out of bed, Jinki thinks he still smells Jonghyun on himself; bits of him, traces of his cologne that cling to his shoulders and the insides of his elbows, even the sharp mint from his mouthwash that Jinki feels at the back of his throat each time he inhales.

He wonders if there are parts of him that cling to Jonghyun. If that’s true, he envies them, if only for their closeness to his skin.

“Jinki.”

Jonghyun. Just in time as the traffic light turns red, Jinki stops at the signal and turns to the voice, expecting nothing but Jonghyun.

He’s not disappointed; Jonghyun’s looking right at him, features softened in the sun. His hair is tucked under Jinki’s snapback. He’s been so quiet since waking up; Jinki suddenly wants to know what kind of trance he’s under and how much is it going to take to break it.

But Jonghyun’s lips move; Jinki almost doesn’t catch it, but he does, and his heart leaps.

He reaches with one hand to cradle the side of Jonghyun’s face, making sure to brush his thumb over those full rosy lips as they mouth the words:

… _ love you _ …

It’s the same words Jonghyun’s probably said to his mother, his sister, Taemin, Kibum, Minho and Jinki himself many times before; small and suffused with their entire meaning. Somehow, Jinki knows it’s different now; this is meant just for him, a gift meant to be contained in his own heart.

He almost misses the light turning green; when he steps on the gas again, his heartbeat quickens.

Above them, dawn continues to spread, coloring the day in pastel hues before the summer heat arrives to make the clash of sun and shadow stand out in stark contrast. Jinki misses the night already; next to him, Jonghyun starts to hum an unfamiliar tune.

“You gonna turn that into a song?” Jinki carefully asks. Jonghyun has always been territorial about his inspirations, though Jinki had learnt not to mind if he’d go cold on him if he was prodded.

Surprisingly, Jonghyun answers: “Yeah.”

He even attempts to continue: “About something like…”

A blush creeps up his neck and Jinki lets it slide. If it’s about what he thinks it is, he knows it’ll be in the right hands; the right mind, the right heart.

Once they reach the dorm building’s indoor parking lot and slide into Jinki’s designated spot, they gather the bags containing the coffee and pastries, the warmth of which seeps through the layers of brown paper into their bare arms. Jonghyun’s lips are parted in concentration as he sets out with the bag of drinks, taking care not to spill a single drop of Kibum’s Americano-flavored lifeblood. 

Jinki knows he can’t kiss him then, but the feel of Jonghyun lips on his thumb is magnetic enough to make him want to attempt it.

Not that there’s enough time left. Next thing Jinki knows, Jonghyun’s ahead of him as they step out of the lift and entering the passcode, then Jonghyun’s walking into the kitchen where he runs into Kibum who’s fiddling with the stovetop and wearing a distinctly familiar soccer jersey.

“You brought coffee!” Kibum trills happily as Jonghyun sets his bag down. Jinki has to blink a few times to make sure he’s not dreaming still. Kibum being cheerful in the morning is a sight which needs getting used to.

“Hyung!” Minho’s already got a grasp of the bag of pastries. “Finally, we were starving.”

Minho looks clean and rumpled, just like his jersey which Kibum wears. Jinki has a good feeling about things, but figures it won’t hurt to ask.

“So… how’d last night go?”

The smile on Minho’s face builds slowly as he attempts to hide his steadily flushing cheeks in his scramble for the packet of cherry Danish that’s slid around the bag. 

“It was, um,” He catches Kibum’s eye as the other spikes a straw into the plastic tub of iced coffee. “Cool. We’re taking things slow.”

Kibum sniggers between sips.

“Slower.” Minho corrects, barely able to hide the satisfaction in his own voice. “And you and Jonghyun hyung…”

“Do we  _ really _ need to know the details?” Kibum again, ever so annoyingly observant. “Jamong’s practically floating.”

Jinki’s piling a tray with croissants and doughnuts when he looks up to find the focus of Kibum’s observations; Jonghyun’s at the door to his and Minho’s room. He glances over his shoulder, mouth in a soft curve and gaze landing on Jinki’s, before not entirely closing the door behind him. There’s enough of a gap left to spell out an invitation. 

Jinki adds two of the Americanos to the tray and carries it past Minho to the door left ajar.

“Where are you going with that?” He hears Kibum asking.

“Someone has to make sure Jamong doesn’t float too far away.”

He’s sure that Kibum’s eyes are burning a hole through him as he fires the next shot at his retreating back.

“You two were together the  _ whole _ of last night!”

Jinki turns around one last time to complete his grand exit with a smile: “And now we have the whole day.”

He then shuts the door and makes sure it’s locked.

* * *

“Well, Minho, looks like you’re sexiled for today.”

This earns Kibum a glare. “That’s the cringiest thing you’ve come up with so far. And you have the nerve to call me bad with puns.”

Still, as they lounge around on the couch in the living-room, taking in the rest of the morning, Minho thinks he might not really be all that mad about his bedroom being off-limits for the day. If anything, he’s getting quite used to Kibum’s. 

The new  _ Hello Counselor _ episode runs in the background as they munch on the rest of the baked goods, taking occasional sips of coffee while Kibum tosses small chunks of sweet dough for Commes to catch in his mouth and Garcons naps on the rug near Minho’s feet. The whole picture feels… lovely. Homely. Just right.

Kibum’s hair has gone fluffy from being washed last night and it reminds Minho of his dogs and the way the ends almost seem to sparkle as they catch light make him want to reach out and touch, so he does and Kibum leans in closer.

“Keep doing that.” He mumbles and Minho’s happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, allowing Kibum to slide back until he’s between Minho’s legs, his back against his chest. The argument on TV drones on as Minho raises both his hands to gather on Kibum’s head, smoothing along the scalp. It’s a repeat of their time in the soccer club showers from the night, except with the barrier of clothes and summer morning drowsiness. 

Minho touches, squeezes, massages until he’s sure of something which sounds like a purr to him. It’s probably the best time to tease Kibum, right now when he’s relaxed and pliable.

“Like that?” Minho ventures a soft press of his lips to the side of Kibum’s head. “I can do more than just your head.”

“Keep talking and you’re probably feel something else on your head.”

Kibum grumbles, but the rest of him loosens up. Minho’s hands move to his shoulders, his mouth to the place where neck meets collar. He can tell Kibum’s trying to be quiet from the way his own hands try to settle on something to hold onto, the closest, most convenient being Minho’s thighs.

Emboldened, Minho flicks out his tongue. Kibum tastes clean and fresh. Minho wonders if he can get to his mouth from this angle. 

“You’re such a brat.” Kibum mutters without a trace of irritation as Minho nuzzles in further, inhaling the scent of Kibum’s Oriental Blossom body-wash. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you later…”

“Smile for me.”

“Cheesy.”

“No, really.” Minho means it. “I wanna see your dimples.”

“You’ve seen them plenty of times.”

“I want to kiss them.”

He can feel the heat rise in Kibum’s cheeks from this close. It’s not a smile yet, but he’ll take his chances. He presses his lips to the peachy skin, relishing the exhale that vibrates through Kibum’s chest where he holds him close.

He’s leaning in for a second attempt, when Kibum cuts him off with his mouth, readily opening up. His hands are clawing into Minho’s shirt, pushing him back on the couch until he straddles him, grinning. 

“Like what you see, Choi?”

Kibum’s face hovers above his, just enough for him to reach up and trace the indentations in his cheeks. 

“I do.”

The cocky edge in Kibum’s grin melts under Minho’s touch. He leans down closer, brushing their lips until – 

“Hyung?”

Minho springs up in a reflex action, causing Kibum to slip off onto the floor and nearly land on Garcons, who startles awake and begins a torrent of panicked barking. Just at the living-room entrance, Taemin looks like he’s still trying to blink himself awake from what he’s walked in on.

“Hyung?” He tries again, eyes darting from Minho frozen on the couch to Kibum wincing on the floor, flanked by two whining dogs. “… What are you doing?”

Minho gulps.

“Massage.”

Taemin squints at him, suspicion already evident. Kibum scuttles off the floor and back onto the couch. He exchanges a knowing look with Minho before turning to face Taemin. Minho hopes he’s thought of a better explanation.

“Massage.” Kibum repeats, nodding for emphasis. 

“With your mouths?”

Taemin’s frowning, so he’s clearly not buying any of this. “Are you two dating?”

There’s a flicker of a smile that makes Kibum’s lips twitch, which means he knows what Minho’s thinking when they exchange glances again. “We’ve begun to.”

“Since when?”

“Since we returned from Bangkok?” Kibum can’t control the giggle that breaks out as Taemin’s face contorts in confusion. “You really didn’t notice?”

“But… weren’t you… you two were…”

“Trying to gouge each other’s eyeballs out of our skulls? Yes. But we’re good now.”

Minho nudges him in the side.

“More than good.” Kibum corrects.

The puzzle pieces seem to gradually align like descending Tetris blocks inside Taemin’s head. Minho supposes they ought to feel bad for leaving him in the dark about all this, but it’s still weirdly hilarious to watch unfold.

“Yah, maknae, come sit down.”

At Minho’s instruction, Taemin warily trudges across the room and takes the place offered between himself and Kibum. One of them has to come clean about everything; Minho guesses it’s not likely to be Kibum, given the manner in which he’s almost collapsing backwards with stifled laughter.

“It’s really a long story, Taemin – ”

“It’s okay, hyung. I don’t need to know all the details. It’s just…” Taemin struggles, not knowing where to settle his gaze as it swings from Minho to Kibum. “… I guess I need time to process it.”

“To be fair, it’s taken a while for it to sink in for me too.” Minho admits. 

“Yeah?”

There’s an awkward pause before Kibum steps in, putting an arm around Taemin for comfort. “Sorry that you had to find out this way. We just really didn’t think it would come up until later.”

The smile that appears on Taemin’s face is small, but like Taemin, completely genuine.

“It’s okay. I’m cool with it, if you and Minho hyung are happy.”

Minho can’t help but feel a rush of affection, just from hearing it. Looking back at Kibum, meeting his eyes even briefly, he knows that it’s true: they’re happy.

He claps a hand on Taemin’s back. “Thanks. It means a lot.”

“Likewise,” Kibum smiles. “Anyway, you’re up early? I thought you fully intended on sleeping in after that all-night cannibal witch-hunter movie marathon in your room last night.”

“It was cannibal  _ zombie _ witch-hunter movies, hyung. And I did want to sleep in. But the weird noises woke me up.”

“Noises?”

“From Jonghyun hyung’s side of the room.” Taemin’s expression immediately shifts to concern. “Is he okay? He’s really groaning up a storm in there. Shouldn’t we tell Jinki hyung?”

Minho bursts out laughing and doesn’t think he’s likely to stop soon.

“Oh, Taemin.” He hears Kibum saying, not without a hint of a chuckle. “You’re going to have stay seated for this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed it ~
> 
> In case you're curious, here are two mini-playlists I made while writing this fic:
> 
> [side a (minkey)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6rO99iimJwin06QUh4E9IR)   
[side b (jongyu)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6511LHbLSQNvRhFyz87SyQ)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [bad guy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22508227) by [rain_at_dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_at_dawn/pseuds/rain_at_dawn)


End file.
